


an adult now (or nearly)

by TheWalkingGrimes



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Because of Terminus, Cannibalism, Canon Compliant, Carl pretends he's fine, Characters are tagged as they become important to the story, Gen, He tries to be good though, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Moments, Occasionally Dark Carl, Rape Recovery, Rick is a Good Dad, Sexual Assault, Tara and Carl are bros, fight me, he isn't, hurt Carl, male sexual assault issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-10-25 06:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10758606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWalkingGrimes/pseuds/TheWalkingGrimes
Summary: He hasn't felt that weak since the farm, since before he fired the bullet that had torn apart Shane’s reanimated skull. And he finds himself wondering if it was because he’d gone soft during all those months Dad had forced him to plant vegetables and feed pigs slop.The kid from six months ago who’d gunned down a teenager without a moment’s hesitation probably wouldn’t have been that useless.-----On the journey from Terminus to Alexandria, Carl struggles with PTSD and coming to terms with the person he is becoming.





	1. and i fall, fall, fall

**Author's Note:**

> READ THE TAGS AND WARNINGS.
> 
> Basically, this fic will be an exploration of Carl's psyche following his attempted rape in the 4x16 episode "A." It was never addressed in the show, which I find infuriating (and I know I'm not the only one). So I kind of wanted to dig deeper into what could have potentially been going on behind the scenes. 
> 
> This chapter contains a novelization of the assault and is the only graphic chapter, so feel free to skip it if you must. It is more graphic than the show, because it's from Carl's point of view so we see more of it (judging from the very distressing sounds in that scene, a little more happens than just Carl being pinned down), however it is completely canon compliant. 
> 
> The underage and rape warnings refer to this chapter alone. There will be no underage sex in this story, so if that's what you're looking for, sorry. There will also be no rape aside from the attempted assault, though there will be heavy discussion of it (I'm trying to think of a way to bring Maggie into this, because I think it would be really interesting to have her try to help Carl, but I can't figure out how she would find out? Idk).
> 
> But like I said, feel free to skip this chapter if you only want the comfort part. This chapter is only here to get into Carl's headspace. 
> 
> The main title and chapter titles are from the lyrics of "Stronger Than Ever" by Raleigh Ritchie, which I was listening to when I thought of this fic. If you haven't heard that song, go take a listen to it, it's basically Carl's anthem (especially at 2:40 wow).

The rabbit is pitifully thin. Carl swears it's gotten smaller since they’d pulled it from the snare that afternoon. 

He knows, logically, that isn't the case, that he's just a hell of a lot hungrier now than he was a few hours ago. _How hungry are you, on a scale of one to ten_ , Dad had asked. The answer to the question now is probably closer to fifty than fifteen.

Dad rations out the meat, giving Carl a portion that's almost twice as big as his own. Carl tries to shove some of the meat back toward his father. “You need it more than I do, you’re still healing, and you’re bigger.”

“Yes, but you’re growing. Don’t argue.”

Carl turns to Michonne, who just shrugs and gives him a look that strongly resembles the expression his mother used to have whenever he’d try to appeal to her after Dad told him no.

Not for the first time, it occurs to him how strangely natural this is, the three of them out here together. It's like they are their own little family unit: son, father, mother.

The thought makes him feel guilty. Michonne isn't his mother, nobody could ever replace Mom. But the three of them do work well together, and as much as he misses the rest of the group and hopes desperately that everyone else had made it out after the attack on the prison, there isn't anyone else he would’ve rather wound up with him and Dad than Michonne.

Well. Except for Judith.

Carl finishes the rabbit meat, wiping his mouth as he tries to steer his thoughts away from the dark turn they’ve taken, toward snarling walkers and a bloody baby carrier. “I think I’m going to head in.” He says quietly, jerking his head toward the abandoned Suburban they're camping in for the night.

Dad nods, his eyes concerned and knowing. “Alright. I’ll take first watch.”

“I’ll stay up with you for a bit.” Michonne tells him. “I figure if I savor this long enough I can trick my body into thinking there’s more.” She makes a show of putting the tiniest scrap of rabbit meat possible in her mouth, rolling it around on her tongue. 

Carl snickers at her antics, heading over to the car. He stretches out in the front passenger seat of the car, trying to get comfortable. Fortunately he's experienced with falling asleep in much worse places than this - _those goddamn storage bins_ _-_ and quickly drifts off into a dreamless, listless sleep.

Way too quickly, there's a knock on the window that jolts Carl out of his sleep. Was it morning already? He glances at the window, expecting to see Dad or Michonne rapping on the glass, telling him it was time to go.

Instead, there is a strange man with a knife.

Carl jumps into a seating position, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. The fat man grins at him, but doesn't open the door. Instead he just presses the knife against the glass and stares Carl down with a strange, unreadable expression.

Through the cracked front windshield of the car, Carl can see his Dad and Michonne still sitting around the fire, now snuffed out. Two men have guns behind their heads, and two more men are facing them down from the other side of the fire. 

The one with the gun to Dad’s head is clearly the ringleader. “Shit, and I was thinking of turning in for the night on new year’s eve.” He crows, sounding a little unhinged. “Now who’s gonna count down the ball dropper with me? Ten mississippi…”

Carl doesn't know what is going on, but it's pretty obvious that whatever happens after the guy gets to _one mississippi_ is not going to be good. 

“Nine mississippi…” 

He glances back at the man with the knife, who is now grinning at him with his gross yellow teeth. Carl’s skin prickles. There is something off about this guy. His hand tenses in anticipation, ready to grab for the Uzi on the dashboard in a split second if the man opens the car door.

“ _Eight_ mississippi-”

“Joe!”

A familiar voice cuts through the tense atmosphere. Carl watches in disbelief as _Daryl_ came out of the woods, walking up to address the ringleader. Holy shit, he's  _alive_. 

“You’re stopping me on eight, Daryl.”

The relief Carl had felt is replaced with confusion. Wait, Daryl knows these people? Has he been traveling with them? Maybe that would be a good thing. Maybe this is a misunderstanding and Daryl could talk them out of whatever they want to do.

Daryl tries to do just that, explaining to the ringleader (Joe) that they were good people, but Joe isn't having it. He seems almost _disappointed_ with Daryl for some reason, yelling about “a lie.”

“Teach him fellas! Teach him all the way!” Joe hollers.

Carl watches, horrified, as the two men who aren't holding Dad and Michonne hostage advance on Daryl and drag him off, beating him. They push him against the side of the car with a violent shove that rocks the entire car.

In the midst of this distraction, Carl doesn't notice the car door opening until it's too late.

“C’mere, boy.” Hands fist in his sweatshirt and Carl panics, reaching for the Uzi. He kicks and attempts to wriggle free. But the man is huge, easily three times his size, and restrains him easily, one arm wrapping around him and pressing the knife to his throat. Carl is yanked out of the car, the other man’s hand harshly gripping the back of his neck.

By the fire, Dad is starting to lose his shit. “You leave him be!” He snarls, trying to stand up, but is forced back down by Joe.

The man presses his lips to Carl’s ear and he jerks away in revulsion, unable to control the panicked whine that escapes his throat. The man’s hand on his neck keeps him in place, fingers wrapping around to dig into the skin on the side of his throat. “Shhhhh…” The man whispers mockingly, burying his face into Carl’s hair. Carl can feel the cold tip of his nose pressing into his neck, his hot, rancid breath as he he inhales sharply. “There’ll be time for that in a bit. I bet you cry so pretty. Can’t wait to find out,” he coos into Carl’s ear. 

Joe is saying something to his dad in the distance, but Carl can barely hear him, he's so overcome by terror and a primal instinct that tells him he needs to get _away_ from this man right the hell now. He manages to catch the last thing he said, “…then we’ll have the girl, _then_ the boy."

A black look crosses Dad's face and Carl feels a terrible, otherworldly fear rise in his chest. He doesn't know what that means, but his father's expression says that it is very, very bad.

Suddenly he's being shoved to the ground and then the man is on him, hands all over him. 

 _Oh god. Oh god_. 

Carl thrashes, attempting to get his legs up so he can kick at the man, but they're completely pinned. His arms are the only defense he had and he tries to use them, to push the man off. The man just laughs gleefully and grabs his wrists. 

“Stop your squirming.”

The man attempts to push his arms over his head, but Carl yanks them free, trying to punch the man. He gets a hit in, then the man presses his meaty forearm to Carl’s throat, pushing down so that he chokes for air. Carl’s hands scramble at the arm, digging his nails in, scratching. He manages to get his chin under the arm and bites down, though the man jerks his arm back before he can do any damage. “You little shit,” the man laughs, like Carl is amusing, then hits him in the face, making his head snap to the side. 

Dazed, Carl feels one of the man’s hands push up under his sweatshirt and shirt, roughly running his hand up his stomach. He spots the knife the man had been carrying before and lunges for it. He just barely managed to catch his fingers on the blade when the man grabs his wrist, making him cut up his knuckles, and the knife falls back. The man laughs at him again, then lets go of his wrist. Carl reaches for the knife again, hands barely brushing it before the man yanks him back, laughing harder than before, like it's all a game.

If it _is_ a game, then Carl is losing, badly. He's quickly running out of stamina, his limbs starting to feel weak. This time when the man tries to push them over his head, he succeeds, pinning them down with one arm while the other one unfastens the button of Carl’s jeans. 

“Dad…” Carl cries out helplessly, searching around for his father in the chaos that was ensuing around them.

He can see his father out of the corner of his eye, being beaten down by Joe, equally helpless.

“Daddy’s not coming to save you, you’re all mine. He can watch though.” The man sneers, practically giggling as he violently flips Carl onto his stomach. Carl tries to push himself up, to throw the man off his back, but a hand shoves his face into the ground, filling his mouth with dirt. He feels his cheek split open from the impact, twigs and gravel scratching it. A hand is running up and down his back.

There's the clinking of a belt buckle and then the man is pushing his hand down Carl’s pants, groping his backside, fingers pressing where they shouldn’t. Unexpected heat rushes toward his groin and Carl lets out a dry sob as he can feel his body react to the unwanted touch. He doesn't want to cry ( _“I bet you cry so pretty”_ ), but can feel the terrified tears starting to build up behind his eyes. 

_No, please, god no, Dad help, someone please, stop, don't -_

“Aaaargggg-” Carl is startled out of his panic by the pained, cut-off scream. He looks up to see Joe fall away from his dad, blood spurting from his neck. 

Dad spits out a mouthful of flesh and blood, his face painted red. He had bitten out Joe’s throat.

Carl stares at his Dad in shock. The man holding him down must be in shock too, because his hand against Carl’s head lifts and he loosens his hold on him.

Michonne is the first to react, grabbing her captor’s gun and turning it on him, shooting him in the head.

The sound of the gunshot snaps Carl out of his shock and he attempts to seize the advantage too, trying to scramble away from the man. The man still has a hand on his sweatshirt though, and yanks Carl roughly to his feet, just as Michonne turns her gun on them. 

“I’ll…I’ll kill him!” The man yelps, brandishing his knife wildly. “I’ll kill him!” 

Carl can see the terrified whites of Michonne’s eyes glowing in the night. “Let the boy go!”

Behind her, Dad stands up from Joe’s body, a knife glinting dangerously in his hand. “He’s _mine_ ,” He growls, advancing like a wolf on a fresh kill. He looks like a living, breathing Walker.

There's a sudden warmth behind him. The stench of urine reaches his nostrils and Carl realizes the man has just pissed himself. “Stay back!” He pleads. His grip on Carl slackens and Carl pushes against his arm, using the opportunity to escape. Michonne lunges forward, catching him as he staggers away, just as the man lets out a horrific cry. 

“Aaaaahhhhhhh!” Carl watches as his Dad drives Joe’s knife into the man’s crotch, then slowly drags it up. 

Blood spurts from the man’s mouth. Dad takes out the knife when he gets up to the man’s throat, only to drive it back in, deeper.

Michonne presses her hands over his ears, as if to shield him from the scene. But he can still hear the man's choked screams, gurgling and wet. It reminds him of when Dad had slaughtered their pigs at the prison to draw the cluster of walkers away from the fences. Though he hadn't been allowed to come with them, he'd still heard their screams when his father had sliced them open and left them to be devoured by the walkers. He images they'd looked something like this man, blood gushing out of them, guts starting to spill out.

The man's face is a distorted, horrified mask of agony. His hand is still twitching, grasping at Dad's collar, fat body jerking with every plunge of the knife. He's still alive, but he'll be dead soon...disappointment begins to seep over Carl's numb body.  _Dad shouldn't have sliced him open to start with,_ he notes distantly.  _He's losing too much blood._

He wants to push away from Michonne, to grab the knife from his father's hand and finish it off himself. Find a way to make it slower, draw it out longer. He wants to hear the man scream and beg and  _cry_. But he's too transfixed at the sight of the knife puncturing the man over and over again, blood spurting from each fresh wound. He's too mesmerized to move.

Finally, the man stops making any noise at all and Carl knows he's dead. He no longer looks like a human being or even a pig, just a bloody piñata. Carl imagines hitting him with a baseball bat, letting his brains and guts fly everywhere, soaking the ground that he'd been pinned to just moments ago. He pictures taking his sword and slicing off the top half of his head, like Michonne taking down a walker. He envisions taking his own knife and peeling off the man's skin in tiny slices until there's nothing but bone. 

 _What is wrong with you?_ A disappointed voice that sounds exactly like his mother rings out in his head and Carl feels a wave of shame wash over him, torn away from his demented fantasies and abruptly crashing back down to reality. Michonne is shaking against him and Daryl is staring at Joe's mangled neck in horror.

Dad stops stabbing the man and turns to look at him. He's covered in blood from his hair to his boots - his teeth are stained with it.

Their eyes meet and they stare at each other for a few brief moments before Dad abruptly shies away, averting his eyes like he's ashamed, and Carl is suddenly reminded of the conversation they had earlier, after Dad hadn't let him help the guy being surrounded by walkers. 

 _"You're a good man,"_ he'd said, and Carl had felt pride at the words. But he'd felt guilt too, knowing that it was a lie. He wasn't. Ever since he'd gunned down that teenager who was handing his gun over and Dad had freaked out, he's only been pretending. Trying to make himself the person his dad wanted him to be, knowing that he was doomed to fail. Yet somehow he'd tricked his father into believing that he'd "fixed" Carl, that he was no longer the broken, twisted thing this world had made him into.

That's why he won't look at them now. Because that Carl, the one that's fixed and whole and  _right_...yeah, he'd probably be scared and horrified. He knows he's supposed to be, like Michonne and Daryl are. But he can't bring himself to feel anything other than satisfaction.

His dad was wrong about him. He wasn't a good man, he wasn't even a man. He wasn't a boy either, and hadn't been for a long time. He was something else. Something darker.

Something not even human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5/19: I was trying to write the third chapter and I realized that it was unrealistic for Carl to realize what was happening to him so quickly, so I modified this chapter. Also, I changed it to present tense since I always default to that and I think it feels more urgent in present.  
> 6/5: Given the detail of the other chapters and the strength of Carl's disgust with himself to the reaction he had to his father killing his attacker, I decided to expand on that part, because it was too vague to have any impact.


	2. turning me bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This mostly follows the morning after as shown on the show, expanding on it in some bits.

It's morning. Carl can hear the chirping of the birds, but when his eyes crack open, it's still dark in the truck. There are clothes and sheets blocking the windows so that no one can see inside.

He's resting against Michonne’s leg, his head practically in her lap as she strokes his hair mindlessly. Ordinarily this might’ve embarrassed him, but Carl can't bring himself to care. He can't bring himself to feel much of anything.

Dad and Daryl’s voices drift into the truck, distorted by the glass.

“…you being back with us here, now, that’s everything. You’re my brother.”

There is silence for a while and it seems like they had stopped talking. Carl almost lets his eyes fall shut again, about to drift off, when Daryl speaks again.

“Hey, what you did last night…”

Carl’s eyes snap back open.

“…anyone would have done that.”

“No, not that.”

“Something happened. That ain’t you.”

“Daryl, you saw what I did to Tyreese. That ain’t all of it, but that’s me.” Dad sounds almost peaceful. “That’s why I’m here now, that’s why Carl is. I want to keep him safe. That’s all that matters.”

Carl lets out a shaky sigh, feeling guilt overwhelm him. The way Dad said that, it’s like he thinks Carl is this precious, innocent thing that needs to be protected at all costs. _You’re a good man, Carl,_ he’d said the other day, pride coating his voice. 

“Hey,” Michonne’s gentle voice shakes him out of his thoughts. She brushes a hand against his bloody cheek. “You up?”

Carl thinks about pretending to still be asleep so that he could just lay there a little longer. He doesn't think he can face his dad yet. But they need to get moving.

“Yeah.” He lifts himself up and away from her, instantly missing the warmth and comfort Michonne had provided. Strangely he still doesn't feel embarrassed about sleeping on her like a little kid. Michonne has never coddled him, so her affection feels less like babying and more like companionship. 

Carl shoves his hat low on his head, hoping it will provide some protection against the pitying stares he is sure to get once he exited the truck. At the time, it had felt like he and that man were in their own world, like he was trapped in his private nightmare that no one could save him from. Now, he is hyperaware of the fact that wasn’t the case, that his Dad, Michonne, and Daryl had all been witnesses to it. His skin prickles with mortification. He’d been so useless.

When he comes around the car, Dad is wiping off the blood out of his beard. He starts wiping more vigorously when he sees Carl, as if he's worried the sight might scare him or something. Carl almost scoffs, but holds it in.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” Dad asks when he's finished.

“Fine,” Carl mutters. And it's the truth. Both Dad and Daryl are looking at him like he's some sort of wounded animal, but aside from the wounds on his knuckles and cheek, he's completely unhurt. 

Wanting to shift the focus off of him, he turns to Daryl. “Are _you_ okay?” 

Daryl grunts, shrugging. “I’ve had worse than this before.” Carl is skeptical. He's never seen Daryl so injured, except for the time when Andrea accidentally shot him. It isn't quite as bad as the beating Dad had taken from the governor, but it's still pretty bad. “They didn’t really know what they were doing.”

Carl remembers the man toying with him, letting him almost grab the knife before pulling him back in. He’d seemed to know exactly what he was doing. 

He shakes himself out of the thought and goes about packing up the camp, feeling Dad’s worried eyes on the back of his neck the whole time. 

When they set out on the tracks again, Carl hangs back so that he can walk in peace without anyone watching him. He's half-grateful that no one tried to talk to him further about what had happened, and half-incredulous. Maybe it's because he'd made it pretty clear he didn't want to talk about it, but that sort of thing has never stopped Dad or Michonne before. Hell, even Daryl had tried to comfort him after Mom's death. 

Maybe they're embarrassed for him and don't want to humiliate him any further. 

The thought almost makes him trip on one of the railroad rungs. His face burns as he thinks about them watching while he cried out like a helpless child, with that man pawing at him. God, had they seen the man sticking his hands down his pants? Carl feels his heart rate escalating, remembering how he'd groped his ass. He doesn't understand why the man had done that. He doesn't even understand why the man had even  _wanted_ him. 

 _I bet you cry so pretty_ , he'd said. Carl wonders if that had something to do with it. Had he, like Dad, seen Carl as a precious, innocent thing too? Something he knew his Dad would do anything to protect, so he'd tried to hurt Carl to hurt Dad. 

Carl wonders if the man still would've done it if he knew the truth.

* * *

Once they're close to Terminus, Dad has them split up so they could try to scope out the place. “You wanna stick with me?” He asks Carl in an almost gentle, protective voice. The sound of it makes Carl’s stomach flip with anxiety and guilt.

“No, it’s okay.” He shoulders past Dad to walk over to Michonne, well aware of the concerned looks they exchange behind his back. She follows him without protest, however, and they move off into the woods, away from Dad and Daryl.

“Why didn’t you go with your Dad?” Michonne asks him, worry coating her voice.

Carl shrugs in response. He can't think of how to explain it to her without sounding like a deranged psychopath, so he just keeps walking, hoping she’d drop it.

“When I told you about Andre, you never asked how he died.”

The abrupt change in topic is startling. “I knew _why_.” Carl explains, confused as to what this has to do with his avoidance of his father.

“Yes, but the how’s important too.” Michonne stops walking, and faces him with a serious expression. “We went to a refugee camp. Andre, and my boyfriend Mike - that was Andre’s father, and our friend Terry. At the camp,” her face darkened. “It just got worse and worse. People were leaving. People giving up.”

Carl knows what that means. He remembers Jenner in the CDC, explaining how some of the scientists had “opted out”, and then the man’s own attempted suicide that nearly killed all of them with him.

“But I didn’t.” Michonne continues, her voice low and bitter. “I was coming back from a run. I saw the fences were down. I heard the moans. It was over. And Mike and Terry…” Something dark and furious flashes across her face. “They were high when it happened. They were bit. I could’ve stopped it. Could’ve killed them. _But I let them turn_.”

There is a familiar fury in her words. She sounds like his father had last night. 

 _He’s mine_.

“I made it so they couldn’t bite, couldn’t scratch. I tied chains around their necks. It was insane. It was sick. It felt like what I deserved, dragging them around so that I would always know. I found out that they kept me safe. They hid me. The walkers didn’t see me anymore. I was just another monster. And I _was_. _Me._ I was _gone_ for a long time.” Michonne pauses, her face becoming somehow lighter. Almost peaceful. “But then Andrea brought me back,” she said fondly. “Your dad brought me back. _You did_.”

The raw, unguarded emotion in her voice hits him unexpectedly and Carl feels himself start to tear up. He knows that Michonne cares about him, that she cares about his dad. Whenever she’d come back from a run or one of her searches for the Governor, they were always the first ones she sought out, usually bearing gifts of comic books or candy for him. But to hear her talk about their bond with such gratitude and _love catches_  him off guard. Carl has only ever thought about it from their side, how good Michonne is for Dad and him. He hadn’t realized that they were so important to her.

“I see how you’ve been looking at your dad.” Michonne says, and Carl ducks his head down in shame. “You don’t have to be afraid of me…or him.”

Carl sigs, shakily. It would be easier, he knows, to just let Michonne believe that. To allow her to assume he's scared of what Dad had done to protect him. 

But she just opened up to him, told him about the darkest, most horrible part of her. It's only fair that he give her the same thing in return.

“He told me the other day,” Carl begins, his throat thick with unshed tears, “That he was proud of me. That I was a good man.” He scoffs slightly, shaking his head. “I’m not.”

“Carl-” Michonne interrupts, probably to reassure him.

“I know more now,” Carl speaks over her, insistently, “about what he wanted from me.” To be a good man, to do something with his life other than fighting and killing. To feel remorse for that boy he killed from Woodbury. “And I tried, but…I still have these _thoughts_.” He swallows, thinking about the rush he’d felt watching his Dad stab that man to death. 

Carl lifts his eyes to meet Michonne’s. “ _I’m not what he thinks I am,_ ” He says, almost pleadingly, desperate for her to understand. “I’m just another monster too.”

He expects her to deny him, tell him he's good, like his father had. Or, even worse, to flinch away like Hershel and Beth had after he’d shot the Woodbury boy.

Instead, her face soft with compassion and understanding, she pulls him into a hug. 

Embracing him. Accepting him, for who - and _what_ \- he was. 

They stay like that for a long moment. Carl sniffs against her shoulder, letting his tears run dry. When she finally releases him, he pulls back and wipes his face, not wanting to return to his father looking like he’d been crying.

“I don’t think your dad was wrong, you know.” Michonne tells him, her hand still on his shoulder. “All of us that are left, those of us who survive…we’ve all done horrible things. And we’ll have to do even more horrible things, I’m sure of it. There are terrible people who do terrible things without worrying about what they’re becoming. What makes _us_ different - people like you and me, and your dad, and Daryl, and Glenn, and Maggie…we worry about it. This fear that you’re feeling? That’s _good_. That’s your conscience keeping you in check.”

Carl nods, though he isn't completely convinced. Michonne isn't done, however.

“I think everyone in this world has a monster inside of them. And that’s good too. When you need it to, that monster will keep you and those you care about alive.”

 _But I needed it last night_. The bitter thought surfaces before Carl has a chance to suppress it. Shame itches at him as he remembers his powerlessness. His _uselessness_. He hasn't felt that weak since the farm, since before he’d fired the bullet that had torn apart Shane’s reanimated skull. And he finds himself wondering if it was because he’d gone soft during all those months Dad had forced him to plant vegetables and feed pigs slop. 

The kid from six months ago who’d gunned down a teenager without a moment’s hesitation probably wouldn’t have been that useless.

“C’mon.” Michonne shakes him out of his thoughts, nudging him along. “Let’s see if this Terminus really is a sanctuary for all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I expanded on the Carl/Michonne conversation, because I felt like there was more to it, we just didn't see it because it wasn't important to the plot and we, as viewers, could understand what the show was trying to say with Michonne's hug. But I felt like Michonne is the kind of person who would make sure to make her views on the subject very clear to Carl and make sure he knew that she thinks the world of him.


	3. i'm loaded

If this were two years ago, they would have followed the train tracks straight to Terminus. They would have knocked on the gates, pleading for sanctuary, as they had that night they reached the CDC. They'd been so desperate that night, terrified of the world that was falling apart around them, certain that this had to be the low point.

They'd been so naive.

They sneak into Terminus through the back. Nothing seems awry, but they're all on their guard. Dad's barely said anything since his talk with Daryl that morning, his eyes sharp and focused as they take in their surroundings.

There's an entire warehouse filled with maps and radio equipment. Something in the back of Carl's mind notes this, thinks it's sort of weird that they have such a large space that seems to be dedicated toward bringing people in. The place is big and cavernous, with not that many people. 

When the Terminus people realize that four strangers have snuck into their sanctuary, there's a moment of brief awkwardness.

"Well..." A man says, breaking the silence. He looks sort of like a weasel. Carl tries not to hold that against him, he knows that looks can be deceiving. "I bet Albert was on perimeter watch..."

They don't seem that upset about four armed people suddenly appearing in front of them. If this had happened at the prison, there would have been eight guns pointing at them by now.

Carl tightens his grip on his own pistol, uneasy.

The weasel-man approaches them. "You here to rob us?"

"No." Dad holsters his revolver with a weighty  _thunk_. Carl takes that as his cue to holster his own weapon. "We wanted to see you before you saw us."

"Makes sense..." The weasel-man looks around at his people. He's definitely the leader, at least among this small group. Carl recognizes the way that the others keep sneaking glances at him, trying to take cues from him the way that their people take cues from Dad. "Usually we do this where the tracks meet...welcome to Terminus." He throws his arms up in a welcoming gesture. It's a bit underwhelming and small in the giant industrial space. "I'm Gareth." His pale eyes flicker around them, taking in their rugged appearances, catching on Carl's bloody cheek. Carl stares back at him, coolly. "Looks like you've been on the road for a good bit."

"We have." Dad admits. " _Rick_. That's Carl, Daryl, Michonne."

Gareth gives them a small, awkward wave. None of them wave back.

"You're  _nervous_ , I get it, we were all the same way," Gareth says effusively, clearly attempting to break the tension. "We came here for sanctuary. That what you here for?"

"Yes," says Dad in a firm, quiet voice.

"Good. You found it." Gareth assures him in an equally firm voice. "Hey Alex!" He calls to one of his people, who starts forward, then turns back to them. "This isn't as pretty as the front, we've got nothing to hide but the welcome wagon is a  _whole_ lot nicer." The other man reaches Gareth's shoulder, giving them a friendly smile. "Alex'll take you, ask you a few questions...but first we need to see everyone's weapons. If you can just lay them down in front of you."

Carl looks over at Dad, and senses Daryl and Michonne do the same. After a moment's contemplation, Dad nods at them. "Alright."

"I'm sure you understand," Gareth says, as they all follow his instructions.

"Yes I do." There's a new note of respect in Dad's voice. Carl gets it. Somehow, it's easier to trust these people now that they're being paranoid. It would be much more suspicious if these people weren't wary of them.

They lay down their weapons and Gareth and Alex step forward to frisk them. 

"Hate to see the other guy," Alex comments as he pats Daryl down, obviously taking note of Daryl's battered face.

"You would." Dad agrees sharply. It's not quite a threat, more of a warning. 

Alex moves over to Carl. "They deserve it?" He asks in an almost playful tone, briskly patting his hands down Carl's sides. When they pass over his hips, Carl feels himself irrationally tense up. 

" _Yes_." Carl answers coldly.  He doesn't like the way this man is talking to him, as if he's a little kid, so he tries to project as much strength as he can into his voice. If things go south, he doesn't want to be identified as the weak link again.

Gareth finishes frisking Dad and moves to stand in front of him. "Just so you know, we aren't those kind of people, but we aren't stupid, either. And you shouldn't be stupid enough to try anything. Just as long as everyone's clear on that, we shouldn't have any problems. Just solutions. Okay?"

Alex hands them all back their weapons, though Daryl bends down quickly to pick up his crossbow before Alex can, casting the man a suspicious look. Carl holsters his pistol again, feeling slightly more at ease with the familiar weight of it against his thigh.

"Follow me." Alex leads them out of the room, further into the camp.

"So how long's this place been here?" Daryl questions.

"Since almost the start," replies Alex. "Lot of camps got overrun, people starting finding this place." Carl looks around, taking in the potted plants, the tools leaning against walls. Evidence of people, a real community. "Think it was instinct, follow a path..." They walk into a big open area that reminds him of the communal eating area back at the prison. "Some people were heading to the coast, others up north...they all wound up here."

They walk up to a middle-aged woman who's grilling something in the middle of the courtyard. "Hi. Heard you came in the backdoor.  _Smart_. You'll fit right in here."

"Hey Mary, would you fix each of these new folks a plate for me?"

Carl's mouth waters looking at the meat sizzling on the grill. He hasn't seen anything like that since the last time Daryl brought back a deer to the prison, a week or so before the sickness hit and everything went to shit. They must do pretty well for themselves, hunting-wise. 

"Why do you do it?" Michonne questions Alex. "Why do you let people in?"

"The more people become part of us, we get stronger," Alex explains. Carl remembers Dad saying something similar to him when he was trying to get Carl to understand why he'd let the Governor's people come live with them. "That's why we put up the signs. Invite people in. That's how we survive. Here."

He hands Carl a plate. The smell hits his nose and he cocks his head in confusion. He's had enough venison in the past couple years to recognize the smell instantly, and this isn't it. He crinkles his nose, trying to place it - it's almost like pork, or beef -

The sound of Dad abruptly smacking the next plate out of Alex's hand jolts Carl out of his confusion and he snaps his head to the side to see Dad wrapping his arm around Alex, gun pressed to the man's temple.

Carl drops his own plate, hand snapping to his own gun and whirling around so that his back is to Dad, scanning the surrounding buildings for threats. Two men in his sightline have guns trained on Dad and he alternates his aim between them for a few seconds, trying to decide. The one on the right with the riot gear has a steadier grip, seems more confident with his aim. That's the bigger threat, Carl decides, and steadies his aim on that one.

"Where the hell'd you get this watch?" Dad hisses.

"You want answers? You want anything else, you'll get 'em when you put down the gun," Alex snarls, his voice tight with fear.

"I see your man on the roof with the sniper rifle, how good's his aim? Where'd you get the watch?  _Where'd you get the watch!"_

"Don't do anything!" Alex calls to the sniper. "I have this! You just put it down! You put it down!"

Carl sees movement up on the roof out of the corner of his eye and figures that the sniper listened to Alex's request.

"You wanna listen to me," Alex spoke now in a quieter voice. "There's a lot of us-"

" _Where_ did you get the watch?"

"I got it off of a dead one! I didn't think he'd need it!"

"What about the riot gear? The poncho?"

It clicks and suddenly Carl understands what set Dad off. The riot gear the man he's aiming at is wearing isn't just familiar because he's used to seeing that gear. It's  _their_ riot gear, from the prison, and that's Daryl's old poncho.

"Got the riot gear off of a dead cop," Gareth drawls lazily, stepping into the scene. "Found the poncho on a clothesline." 

"Gareth, we can wait-"

"Shut up, Alex."

"You, talk to me." Dad orders him. 

"What's there left to say? You don't trust us anymore."

"Gareth-"

"Shut  _up._  It's okay, it's okay...Rick, what do you want?" 

"Where are our people?" Though Dad's voice is calm, Carl can practically feel the anger and worry radiating off of him. He feels the same way. Why do these people have stuff from the prison? He thinks about Beth, Maggie, Glenn, Carol, pictures these people hurting them and taking their possessions.

His grip on the gun tightens.

"You didn't answer the question." 

Then, chaos and gunfire erupts around them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter I googled "what does human meat smell like" so the FBI is going to have a fun time with my browser history if I'm ever arrested for something. Being a writer is neat.


	4. friends and family

Bullets bite at their feet as they round the corner. Dad flings an arm out in front of Carl, shoving him back and away from the barrage of gunfire. They dash down another corridor, Michonne keeping close to Carl's side while Dad covers their back, firing at the enemy.

It reminds him of being in the tombs of the prison, walkers around every corner, unable to see where the enemy is coming from.

They pass by what looks to be a Walker-disposal pit, then turn another corner, heading for an open garage door in a large building.

"Help! Help! Let us out!"

The cries are coming from some train cars on top of each other, muffled and desperate.

"The hell?" Daryl gasps out.

"Keep going!" Dad orders, ushering them into the building for cover.

They enter a large, dark room. There are candles everywhere, on the floor, stacked on shelves, hanging from the ceiling. Across the wall opposite them are "NEVER AGAIN. NEVER TRUST. WE FIRST, ALWAYS" in giant, ominous print.

"What the hell is this place?" Daryl questions as they catch their breaths, collectively scanning the room for an exit.

"These people..." Michonne pants. "I don't think they're trying to kill us."

"No." Dad agrees. "They're aiming at our feet.  _There_."

He points out a door, but as soon as they head toward it, someone slams it shut, and they're forced out another one.

As soon as they exit the building, gunfire nips at their feet again. They turn on their heels and Carl feels hope swell in his chest as they spot the fence. Almost out...

No sooner does the thought cross his mind than Daryl skids to a stop in front of them. There's the distinctive  _click_ of about seven safeties coming off and he sees a whole group of the enemy, lined up behind the fence. Shit. They planned this. 

A strange feeling creeps over his skin, like he's an ant about to be burned by a magnifying glass. Carl looks up and to the right, back to the buildings behind him.

There's a sniper rifle aimed at him.

Dad, Michonne, and Daryl turn to him, their eyes widening in horror as they realize. Carl doesn't dare move, or even breathe. He thinks back frantically to everything Dad has ever taught him to do in this situation - but there's no cover, they're surrounded and completely out in the open.

"Drop your weapons!" Gareth's voice orders from behind him. "Now!"

They all hesitate, looking around, trying to find some way out of this situation.

" _Now_!" Gareth's voice distorts with both volume and rage.

Dad drops his gun and machete and the rest of them follow suit. Carl tries to bend as little as possible as he drops his Beretta, afraid that any sudden movement on his part will trigger the sniper.

"Ringleader, go to your left. The traincar,  _go_."

It's then that Carl notices the traincar sitting on the tracks near them, with stairs leading up to the entrance. Ready, and waiting for them. Like a trap. A  _snare_. That's why they were aiming at their feet.

"You do what we say, the boy goes with you. Anything else, he dies, and you end up in there anyway."

There's no trace of Gareth's former friendliness in his voice. He doesn't sound like the Governor, or Joe either, full of anger and vengeance. He sounds almost impatient, like this is just his job and he's having an annoying day at work.

Dad glances at Carl, obviously conflicted. Carl doesn't know what choice they have. If it was just his life under threat, he likes to think he'd tell them to cut their losses and make a run for it, though he knows better than to think Dad would actually listen to him. Especially not after last night. But it doesn't matter, anyway. Surrounded by the enemy, with their weapons on the ground, there's nowhere to run. Gareth's right. 

Dad seems to come to this conclusion too, because he obeys Gareth's order.

"Now the archer."

Daryl follows reluctantly, clearly pissed.

"Now the samurai."

Michonne crosses in front of him, leaving Carl standing alone in the middle of the courtyard, with at least eight guns trained on him.

Carl waits for his instructions, but they don't come.

"Stand at the door, ringleader, archer, samurai, in that order."

 _They're going to kill me_. He thinks, feeling the hot, sickly terror creep up again.  _They're going to use me to get the rest of them into the train car, and then they're going to kill me. They know I'm useless, whatever they want the others for they don't want me. They're going to kill me._

"My son!" Dad shouts, in the same furious, commanding tone he'd used last night when he was trying to reason with Joe.

Gareth doesn't say anything at first and Carl ducks his head. Closes his eyes. Waits for the shot.

"Go, kid."

Carl releases the breath he didn't even realize he was holding. Feeling like he's walking barefoot over broken glass, he makes his way over to his dad, who seems suddenly like he's a mile away. He can sense the aim of the rifle following him.

"Ringleader. Open the door and go in."

"I'll go in with him." Dad retorts stubbornly.

"Don't make us kill him _now_!" Gareth barks, sounding entirely fed up with all of them.

Dad goes up the steps and enters the traincar, Daryl and Michonne following him, leaving Carl alone outside.

There's a moment where he swears he can hear the  _ping_ of a shot being fired and he freezes, but nothing happens. It was completely in his imagination.

Carl enters the traincar, and Dad's hand is there immediately, reaching for him. Carl reaches back instinctively, his hand resting on the back of his father's coat. 

He knows Dad can feel him shaking where he's got his palm pressed protectively against the nape of Carl's neck, but he can't stop it. Rapidly, the adrenaline drains from his bloodstream, leaving relief at being temporarily out of danger, and terror now that his brain has calmed down enough to process some of what's happening. 

The door slams shut behind them and he can hear it latch. They're trapped.

They move to the side of the traincar, trying to inspect their surroundings. It's dark and almost impossible to see anything, except for where patches of light seep in from a few gaps in the walls.

A creaking sound from the other side causes all of them to turn around. There's some shuffling, and a shadow moves in front of the light. A figure moves forward and Carl shifts back.

There's something in here with them.

"Rick?"

Before Carl has time to place the voice, Glenn's face appears, illuminated by a patch of light. Behind him, another figure moves to stand at his shoulder. Maggie.

Of  _course_. In all of the chaos that ensued, Carl had forgotten about the riot gear, poncho, backpack, and the watch. Glenn's watch. 

"You're here." Dad answers, sounding almost awed. "You're  _here_."

More shadows move and Carl recognizes Sasha, as well as that new guy who'd only been at the prison for about a month before it was overrun. Bob, he thinks? There's strangers with them too, a pair of lithe, pretty women, and two bulky, tall men. 

"They're our friends," Maggie explains, in answer to their questioning gazes. "They helped save us." Her statement rings more ironic than she probably meant it to. Those people had helped save them...only for them to end up here. 

"Yeah? Now they're friends of ours." Daryl replies simply, and that's that. These are their people now. 

One of the new men, a redhead built like a soldier, scoffs. "For however long  _that'll_ be." 

He sounds completely and utterly defeated. Carl wonders how long they've all been in here. He wonders if there were more of them, if any of them died getting trapped in here. 

The weight of despair settles over the group in the traincar. Is this how it's going to end for all of them? Tricked by the promise of sanctuary, imprisoned by psychopaths, and picked off one by one?

"No." Dad denies the redhead's statement, looking around at all of the people in the traincar, like he's assessing the new recruits. Measuring them. "They're gonna feel pretty stupidwhen they find out."

He goes over to the door, looking outside. There's a gleam in his eye that Carl recognizes, one that he hasn't seen since the days of the war against the Governor.

"Find out what?" The redhead asks him.

Dad turns back, taking in all of the eyes on him as everyone waits for his answer.

"They're fucking with the  _wrong people_."

* * *

Carl rips at the zipper teeth lining his hoodie, letting the murmured conversations wash over him. Everyone is reuniting around him, catching up on the time spent apart. He catches snippets of the tales, but his focus is entirely on Dad and the redhead's ( _Abraham's_ ) discussion across the traincar from him.

"...been in here since yesterday, then?"

"Yessir. Not a lick of noise since a few assholes came in and gave us some powdered milk and water. 'Til we heard the gunfire from them rounding y'all up."

"And you have no idea what they want with us?"

"Not a clue."

Out of the corner of his eye, Carl notices Dad's gaze flit over to him briefly. "They haven't tried to take any of the women? Shown any interest in them?"

"No, though I did catch a few of them looking at Sasha strangely. But they looked at Eugene the same way, so..."

"Strangely, how?"

"Almost like-"

There's a hand on his shoulder suddenly and Carl flinches at the unexpected touch. He jerks his head up to see Maggie, giving him a strained smile.

"Hey. You're being uncharacteristically quiet. How're you doin'?"

Carl twists his mouth into what could maybe pass for a smile. "Okay, I guess. I mean...given everything..." He juts his chin toward their surroundings.

Maggie frowns as he turns his head, and her hand moves from his shoulder to his cheek. "This looks pretty nasty. They do this to you?" She runs her thumb over the scab, looking angry.

Even though her touch barely stings, he can still feel that same prickling sensation as when Alex was patting him down. Carl doesn't fully pull away from her, but he does shift uncomfortably until she retracts her hand. "No. They didn't hurt us. They just shot at us, but they were aiming at our feet."

"How'd you get hurt?"

Carl shrugs, trying to shove down the wave of mortification that starts to wash over him. Why isn't she questioning Daryl about this, he's in much worse shape than Carl is. He supposes that one mark on him must seem a whole lot worse than Daryl's entire face looking like a sloppy joe, since everyone knows  _Daryl_ isn't weak. "We ran into some trouble last night," He answers evasively. "Got in a fight with some bad people. I was - one of them shoved me and I fell. Hit my face."

He more feelsthan sees Dad and Michonne both glance sharply at him, in almost perfect synchronization, and tries to ignore their sudden scrutiny. It's not like he's  _lying_ to Maggie. He just isn't telling her all of it.

"Hey Maggie," Daryl calls softly, catching her attention. "Come over here. I gotta talk to you about your sister."

Maggie bolts up from her kneeling position by Carl. " _Beth_?" She repeats incredulously, making her way over to Daryl. "Did you see her? What happened?"

Carl returns his focus back to the zipper. Michonne's next to him, making some kind of a skewer out of her katana scabbard and splinters of wood. She keeps glancing at him and he can tell she wants to say something about his conversation with Maggie, but she remains silent.

_"...shut up! Shut up!"_

The sounds of arguing outside the traincar makes Carl glance up from his task. The voices are moving closer.

"Alright..." Daryl announces from his lookout position by the crack in the door. "We got four of 'em pricks coming our way."

Dad makes his way over to Daryl. "Y'all know what to do. Go for their eyes first. And their throats."

They all get into position, improvised weapons at the ready. Carl wraps the side of the zipper teeth he'd managed to pull off around his right knuckle, positioning the pull-tab between his thumb and forefinger. His instructions are to stick by Michonne no matter what, and stab anyone in the eyes who tries to go after him. 

"Put your backs to the walls at either end of the car!" A disembodied voice commands.

Dad glances back at Carl and Michonne, giving them a nod.  _Brace yourselves_ , the nod says.

There's a noise from above. 

Unexpected light suddenly spills into the dark traincar. Carl glances up to see that a small, square hole in the top of the train car has opened up.

Something drops down and rolls on the floor.

There's a moment of stunned silence.

"Move!" Abraham roars.

Michonne flings herself against him, shoving him to the wall of the traincar as far away from the object on the floor as she can. There's the sound of a small explosion and suddenly the air is filled with smoke. Carl gasps as it scratches at his throat, stings his eyes. 

He tries to turn around to see what's going on, but Michonne's in the way, still shielding him with her body. His ears are ringing and he can barely make out the sounds of everyone coughing and the distinctive rolling noise of the door sliding open. Then there's grunting and struggling and someone screaming "No!"

"Carl, here." Michonne chokes out, guiding him over to a gap in the traincar wall. " _Breathe_."

He presses his nose and mouth into the gap, inhaling gratefully. After a few moments, his eyes stop stinging enough that he's able to open them and he can just barely make out the blurry figures of four people being dragged away.

Carl closes his eyes again and plugs his nose, before pulling away from the gap. He tugs on Michonne's arm, nudging her toward the gap urgently. He can feel her hesitate for a moment, probably wanting him to stay there, but she quickly obeys his unspoken command, and he hears her gasp in the smoke-free air.

Eventually, his ears stop ringing, and he can hear Maggie screaming, "No! Glenn! Glenn!" as she bangs on the walls of the traincar.

"Wh-what happened?" One of the new girls, Tara, asks hoarsely.

"They...they took them." Sasha answers, sounding on the verge of tears. "Bob, Glenn, Daryl and Rick. They took them."

Carl's stomach drops. He looks around the traincar as the smoke clears, the shadowy figures revealing themselves one by one, and he realizes that Sasha is right. His father is gone.

"It's a solid strategy." Eugene, the other new guy, is saying. "Take away some of the strongest members, kill them separately, then come back for more later. They won't come for us all at once because that's our best chance of survival. They'll kill them and come back for the rest of us."

Maggie rounds on him, her eyes red from smoke...and from fury. "Shut up!" She snarls at him. "They won't kill them. They can't."

"Unfortunately, they very well can. Even though this is a world of survival of the fittest, it is also survival of the luckiest and it appears that our luck has run out. No one is indestructible, you should know that at this point and -"

"You're wrong." The words fly out of his mouth before he can stop them. "You don't understand. It's not just about being the fittest or the luckiest. It's about being willing to do whatever you have to. These people don't know who they just took. I bet you anything, they've never killed anyone like my dad before. He's gonna rip them apart with his _teeth_." Carl spits out the last few words.

There's a sort of stunned silence in which all of the new people eye him nervously, as if they're not sure what to make of him. Maggie and Sasha both have a glint of recognition in their eyes, with still a touch of wariness.

He feels a weight on his shoulder as Michonne clasps her hand there. "Exactly." She agrees supportively. "And we've got to be ready to do the same."

* * *

The explosions and gunfire started awhile ago and have been going off for some time. Carl's muscles are tense with anticipation, ready to spring into action as soon as they're free of their temporary prison.

His dad is coming back. He's never been so sure of anything else in his entire life. 

Carl may be completely confident, but the morale amongst the others in the train car has dipped from time to time. Usually it's the guy with the weird hair, Eugene, who just can't seem to understand that Rick Grimes is not like other people. He hasn't seen it yet. He will though. Carl is certain of it.

Eugene has launched into some complicated explanation of his mission to D.C. that Maggie, Glenn, Sasha and Bob have apparently gotten themselves wrapped up in. Something about using diseases to fight the disease. Carl's not really sure what to think about it, to be honest. Somewhere along the line, he just sort of accepted that this is what life looks like now and there never would be a cure. And even if Eugene does make it D.C. and gets rid of the Walkers for good, things'll never go back to the way they used to be. The world's too far gone.

Still...if he could wipe out the walkers...Carl has to admit, that would be pretty cool. 

 _Click_.

He hears the train door unlatching from the inside and shoots to his feet, gasping. Everyone else moves backward but Carl surges forward as the door opens. He knows.

"Fight to the fence!" Dad yells, yanking open the traincar door to reveal a smoky battlefield where Bob, Daryl, and Glenn are fighting walkers in the background. He's somehow gotten ahold of a machine gun, because of course he has.

Carl dashes out of the traincar and heads straight to Dad, grabbing onto his shoulder while Dad touches his neck in the silent  _thank-god-you're-alive-now-let's-get-the-fuck-out-of-here_ exchange they've mastered at this point. 

He runs ahead of Dad, keeping Michonne near him. Terminus is now crawling with walkers, whatever explosion that's now filling the air with smoke must have taken down the walls. Carl doesn't have an adequate weapon for taking out a walker, so whenever one of them comes near him he just ducks, letting Michonne skewer it with her makeshift double-sided spear. 

One walker comes at him while Michonne is occupied with one to her left, so Carl grapples with it, keeping it's snapping jaws away from his face. "Here!" He shouts to get Michonne's attention, positioning it so that she can kill it with relative ease.

Somehow, they all make it over the fence without any injuries, and then they're running, bolting away from the so-called sanctuary. Eventually, Dad slows down into a walk, directing their group back toward where they came from earlier this morning. 

"The hell we still around here for?" Abraham demands in irritation as Dad starts to dig up the weapons they buried.

"Guns." Dad answers. "Some supplies. Go low on the fences, use the rifles. Take out the rest of them."

"What?" Bob questions, sounding shocked.

Dad looks up at him. "They don't get to live," he explains, simply.

"Rick, we got out. It's over." Glenn asserts.

Dad finishes digging up the bag and pulls out his Colt. "It's not over until they're all dead." He hands Carl one of their spare pistols.

"The hellit isn't, that place is on  _fire_." Rosita scoffs.

"I'm not dicking around with this crap, we barely made it out alive," adds Abraham.

"The fences are down," Maggie assures Dad. "They'll run or they'll die."

Dad looks around at everyone, trying to find someone to side with him. He meets Carl's eyes for a second and Carl gives him a slight nod to show that he's with him. They need to kill these people. They're going to come for revenge, like the Governor did. Like Joe's group did.

Carl looks over at Michonne, who suddenly squints her eyes behind Dad's shoulder, and her mouth parts into a gasp. He follows her gaze to see what she's looking at.

Impossibly,  _Carol_ emerges from the treeline. She's rugged and dirty, carrying Daryl's crossbow and a few other weapons. She almost looks timid as she approaches them, glancing at Dad like she's afraid he'll attack her.

Daryl dashes toward her, throwing his arms around her in a giant hug. It's probably more affection than Carl's seen him express in his whole life.

Dad hugs her next. "Did you do that?" He asks quietly, nodding his head back toward Terminus and Carol nods. 

"You have to come with me," she says, and makes her way over to Carl. She wraps her skinny arms around him and he breathes in her scent. It's full of smoke and the decaying smell of the dead, but he swears he can still smell that lavender soap she and Sophia used to use back at the camp. "I have someone who wants to see you," Carol whispers into his ear, pulling back with a beautiful, radiant smile.

"Who?"

"It's a surprise, come on."

They follow her through the woods. Carl can't help but wonder who she could possibly be with that would want to see him. Most of the people who cared about him had either wound up at Terminus, or they were dead. He knew Carol was close to Lizzie and Mika, maybe she thought he was friends with them. Or maybe she could have found Beth after Daryl lost her? 

Over the crest of the hill they're ascending, he sees a cabin start to come in view. In the doorway, there's a large, black man holding something white in his arms. Tyreese. 

Carl can't help but feel disappointed for a split second. He likes Tyreese, sure, but why would Tyreese want to see him? Why wouldn't Carol have said that to Sasha? Why -

Whatever small, white thing Tyreese is holding moves and Carl's world stops.

No. It can't be.

But Dad's dashing forward, faster than he's probably ever moved in his life and somehow even though Carl's world has stopped his feet are moving of their own accord. 

She comes into focus: her wispy blond hair, the little white sweater she's wearing, her tiny socked feet.  _Oh my god._

Dad stops to take her from Tyreese and Carl nearly crashes into the pair of them, barely managing to slow his momentum down to stop and she's  _there_. He reaches out a shaking hand to touch her, afraid that when he does this will all come crashing down on him.

He's had this dream before. It always ends the same way, with her turning toward him and her eyes are white, her mouth full of bloody, gnashing teeth. 

Her back is solid against his hand and she turns to look at him. Eyes bright. Mouth curling into a smile. 

"Judith," Carl breathes, rubbing his fingers against her back, as Dad presses a kiss to her head, his eyes wet with tears. This is real. This is  _real_.

Eventually Dad hands her over to him and Carl just  _curls_ around her. He presses his forehead against her head and whispers, "Hey Judy. I love you so much. I'm never leaving you again, I promise. I love you more than anything."

She cooes at him, her little hand wraps around his thumb, and suddenly it all feels worth it to Carl. All of the fear, and horror, and pain of the last few days...he would go through all of it a hundred times over just to be here, in this moment now.

Just to be with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up reposting this because I added the last section. I just really wanted to reunite Carl with Judith. He deserves something good, damnit!


	5. pull the wool back from my eyes

They make camp a little before sundown, using the remaining daylight to organize themselves, assigning watch shifts and boiling water from a nearby creek. Between the fifteen of them they’ve got next to no food, so Judith is the only one that eats that night. 

Judith gobbles up the bit of canned beats Dad gives her, fixing him with a greedy expression that Carl recognizes as her _“Where’s the rest?”_ face. She used to be much pickier back at the prison, when they had more food options. It’s more than a little sad, because it means she must be getting used to being hungry and eating whatever is offered to her. Carl didn’t have to learn to do that until he was twelve and he’d hoped she’d never have to feel that sort of hunger. He’d wanted things to be better for her.

Still, Carol and Tyreese must have been managing to feed her pretty well, because Judith is heavier than he remembers. She takes up more space in his arms than she used to, and it’s amazing to think how quickly she’s growing now. It’s only been a few weeks since he last saw her.

Daryl goes out on a short, mostly fruitless hunt that yields two scrawny squirrels they decide to save for morning. Hopefully with the snares they set up around the camp they’ll be able to have enough to make for an adequate breakfast to give them the energy they’ll need tomorrow.

When the sun starts to set, Dad calls all of them together. “We need to talk about some things,” He informs Carl, Maggie, and Glenn as he signals them to follow him.

“Feels like old times, huh?” Glenn jokes to him as they start to gather around the campfire.

Carl gives him a small laugh in return. “Yeah.” He can remember being so pissed back at the farm at being left out of the group “talks.” He would always eavesdrop though and listen as the group would spend hours debating the same thing endlessly in circles. No wonder Dad had eventually gotten fed up with the whole thing and informed them all that he was going to be the one making decision from then on.

It’s pretty clear from the way everyone is deferring to Dad now that he is their leader once again. Of course, Carl knows that Dad had never really _stopped_ being their leader since everyone always tried to go to him for advice and help when he was playing farmer back at the prison, but now it appears to be official once again. Even Abraham, who’s clearly the leader of the new people, seems to respect Dad’s authority and defer to him.

Carl’s grateful. As much as he’d given Dad a hard time for his bad decisions during the war against the Governor, it’s pretty obvious to him that no one’s as good of a leader as his father. He can see now that Dad had needed to take a break so that he could stop losing his marbles over Mom’s death and that it was good for him to do so, but now they need him again.

“I’m going to try to make this brief, because we need to keep our guard up,” Dad informs them once everyone has settled, save for Bob and Sasha who are on watch. “As soon as the sun goes down, we’re going to put out the fire and get some rest. I know it’s cold, but we can’t risk someone seeing it.”

“Isn’t that what the lookouts are for?” Tyreese questions.

Dad’s lips tighten. “The lookouts are for walkers. We don’t want to give those Terminus people any indication of where we are. If any of survived and found each other, there’s a strong possibility they’ll come for us. That’s what I wanted to talk to you all about.” His gaze glanced over to Glenn, then Daryl. “The four of us they took, we know what they wanted with us. With all of us. And you all deserve to know too, so that you understand just what we’re up against.”

Carl looks over at Glenn for some indication of what his father’s talking about, and he notices Maggie doing the same. Glenn just closes his eyes, looking faintly sick.

“These people…they were going to eat us.” Dad informs them gravely. “They’re cannibals.”

Carl feels his mouth fall open. _Cannibals?_ That was something that only happened in books. People didn’t really eat people, did they?

But as soon as he starts doubting it, the logic starts to fit together. They’d only been shooting at their feet. They’d trapped them all together and taken only a few of them. Because they didn’t want to kill them right away. They wanted to keep them fresh. Like livestock.

“How do you know?” Tara asks in a faint voice.

“We saw it.” Daryl grunts. “They had a whole meatlocker, with body parts hanging off of meathooks. Piles of human bones, stripped clean.”

“They brought out four other men from another traincar with us,” Glenn recounts, clasping Maggie’s hand. “They hit them with baseball bats and slit their throats. I was next. If Carol hadn’t set off that explosion…” He trails off, squeezing Maggie’s hand tighter. 

A heavy silence sits over the campfire as his words sink in.

Suddenly Carl remembers the plate of meat that he’d almost eaten. The smell of it lingers on the roof of his mouth and Carl clamps a hand over it. Fuck, he’s gonna vomit.

There’s a retching sound nearby. They all turn to see Eugene bent over with his hands on his knees.

“Hey, none of that!” Barks Abraham, shooting up to put a hand on Eugene’s back. “We’ve barely had anything to eat in the last few days. You keep it in your system, you hear me? You’re not dying from starvation, not on my watch!”

“He’s right.” Dad agrees, giving all of them a stern look. “I know this is a lot to handle, but you can do it. All of you. I didn’t tell you this so that you can panic. There ain’t no room for that right now. I told you so that if they find us again, you won’t hesitate to do what needs to be done. These people are not people anymore. They’re no better than the walkers and if you see one, you put them down immediately. Understood?”

There are murmurs and nods from around the campfire. Eugene still looks faintly green, but he’d managed to keep everything in.

“Good. Let’s turn in. Michonne and Glenn, it’s your turn for watch. Daryl and Carol will take over from you in four hours.”

* * *

 

Carl gets Judith ready, trying to make the forest floor as comfortable as he possibly can for her. Even with her blanket she’s shivering, so he takes off his plaid shirt, gently wrapping it around her for an extra layer of warmth. He spoons himself around her, trying to ignore how cold he is in only his long sleeve t-shirt. The material is thin and flimsy. If only he hadn’t left the hoodie back at the traincar.

“Here.” There’s a soft thump near him and Carl opens his eyes to see that Dad has tossed his jacket near him and Judith. “Use it. I’ll be okay.”

The unspoken _don’t argue_ lingers in Dad’s tone and so Carl doesn’t, figuring that trying to be stubborn will only result in him with the coat anyway and the new people thinking he’s an ungrateful brat. 

“Thanks,” he says instead, grabbing the jacket and giving his father a grateful nod as he wraps the oversized coat around his body. It warms him up almost immediately, but for some reason his back still feels exposed.

“How’re you doing?” Dad asks him quietly, settling down opposite Judith from him, resting a hand on her back. 

Carl gives him a wan smile. “Not panicking, remember?” 

Dad reaches forward with the hand that isn’t touching Judith and brushes Carl’s hair out of his eyes, his hand lingering on Carl’s cheek. “I know.” He says warmly. “I’m proud of you, you know that?”

“I know.” The anxiety he’d felt earlier today - had it really been _today_ , it feels like his conversation with Michonne happened weeks ago - had settled somewhat. Now, it creeps back up on him again and his throat suddenly feels dry. “Hey Dad?”

“Yeah?”

The scent of blood from his father’s coat tinges the roof of his mouth, replacing the memory of the meat he’d almost devoured.

“We should have killed them all.”

His voice is higher than he wishes it was, tight with nerves and the fear of rejection.

Dad’s hand stills against his cheek and he looks into Carl’s eyes searchingly. Whatever he’s looking for, he must find, because he relaxes after a few moments. “I think so too. But the others didn’t agree and then when we found Judith, we had to get her away from that place. That was the priority.”

Carl nods. “Yeah. But we shouldn’t have argued about it in the first place. Now they could find us and kill us. Or someone else. You were right…they don’t get to live.”

“We’ll be on our guard,” promises Dad. “We won’t take any chances. The good news is, the way they were set up, I don’t think they’re used to being on the road like we are. They’re used to trapping people, not hunting them.”

“Like a snare,” Carl remembers. “They found a trail, the railroad tracks, and that’s where they placed their trap.”

“Exactly.” Dad sounds pleased that he’d remembered the lesson. “So it’s unlikely they’ll be able to follow us. Still, we’ll be careful and if they do show up…we’ll do what we need to do.”

Carl nods again, relieved that they were able to have this conversation, that he could express his true thoughts without his father rejecting him. “We will. Goodnight dad.”

“Goodnight Carl. I love you.”

“I love you too.” The words sound almost foreign on his tongue. God, when did he last say them? Definitely before the prison fell, before the sickness, and even then he couldn’t actually remember when he last spoke those words. He probably did it flippantly, without really thinking about what they meant.

Dad brushes his chin with his thumb before retracting his hand and repositioning himself so that he can lay more comfortably.

There’s the noise of a twig snapping behind him and Carl jerks his head, entire body suddenly tense and alert. Rosita shoots him an apologetic smile for startling him as she and Abraham settle down behind him. Carl turns back toward his dad, trying to relax. For some stupid reason though, his brain seems intent on constantly reminding him that Abraham is right behind him.

_He’s a stranger he’s big you don’t know him you can’t trust him he’s big he could hurt you he’s close he could just reach over and touch you and hurt you…_

Carl buries his face in the fleece collar. He inhales deeply, knowing that the coppery scent is from Joe, from the man who attacked him, and from the cannibals who’d tried to eat them. The smell is a reminder that they’re all dead at his father’s hands.

It brings him comfort.

“Carl?” Dad’s voice is quiet. Carl doesn’t open his eyes, just grunts to let him know he’s listening. “I know you’re not panicking and that’s good, but if you need to talk about anything, if you need anything, I’m here. I’m always here.”

Carl wraps the coat around his body a little tighter. “Actually, can you, um…can you maybe sleep on my other side? You can take Judith if you want so you can see her, I just, uh…” His face burns with mortification. He has no rational way of explaining to his dad that he doesn’t think he can fall asleep with his back exposed like this. “Y’know, it’s fine, forget it-”

But Dad’s already up and moving to Carl’s other side, without hesitation or question. He lays down, his back resting against Carl’s. “This okay?”

The litany in his brain has stopped. Carl exhales heavily, scooting back slightly so that he’s pressed more securely against his father. “Yeah. Did you want Judith?”

“No, I trust you with her. We can watch each other’s backs.”

 _Watch each other’s backs_. Carl feels an immense rush of gratitude toward his father, for putting it in a way that sounds so simple, so normal to anyone who might be listening in. He knows it’s more than that and he’s pretty sure his dad does to, but nobody else needs to know. Just them.

“Thanks. I love you, dad.” This time when he speaks the words, he does it firmly, with purpose. He’s gonna try to say it more, Carl decides. His dad deserves to hear it.

Carl rests well that night, waking up only when Michonne gets off from her watch shift and lays down facing him, her body curved in a protective arc around him and Judith. It’s the most peaceful night he’s had in a long time, his dad at his back, his precious baby sister in his arms, Michonne within an arm’s reach away, and the rest of his family safe and nearby.

It’s the most peaceful night he’ll _have_ for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the uneven length of these chapters, as well as the uneven posting schedule. I have this story fleshed out in my head, but I am not and will never be an outliner. I write when inspiration strikes and then I post it. I'll realize that I made a mistake, and go back and edit chapters as I write. I have zero discipline. But, well, this is a hobby and not a job so I'm not really that sorry :P


	6. fall short on knowledge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rick's POV.  
> Also Richonne goodness, because we all need a little more of that in our lives. I am a huge Grimes 2.0 fan, can you tell?

Rick sweeps his gaze around the campsite, cataloging the weary faces of his group as they settle in for their second night in the woods. They aren’t making as good of progress as he’d have liked: their pace has been slow throughout the day and had been practically crawling by the time he made the decision to make camp…about two hours earlier than he’d have liked. 

They’ve been lucky with finding water, spring thawing ensuring that the streams are plentiful and full. But the food situation is rather dire and that’s what’s fatiguing his people. A couple squirrels and a few handfuls of pecans would only get them so far.

His instinct is to stay in the woods and stay hidden while putting as much distance between them and Terminus as possible. It’s quickly becoming obvious that they’re not going to be able to keep this up for long though, and at the rate they’re going it would be far too easy for the Terminus people to catch up with them. No, they need to try to find supplies, and that means they need to attempt to find some sort of town or something.

Rick’s eyes, as always, end up on his children. Carl is attempting to get Judith to focus on the bottle of water he’s trying to make her drink from, but Michonne keeps distracting the tiny girl by tickling her feet. He watches from a distance, amused, as the two engage in a battle for Judith’s attention. 

It’s nice to see Michonne bonding with Judith, as he’d noticed back at the prison that Michonne seemed to want nothing to do with his baby daughter. He hadn’t taken offense, assuming that she just wasn’t a baby person. Now, taking in her bright eyes and wide smile, it’s obvious that isn’t the case.

Carl, on the other hand, seems reserved and tense, his arms wrapped around Judith a little more securely than they need to be. Michonne’s goofiness barely draws a smile to his face. He’s clearly exhausted and hungry…but it’s more than that. Even if Rick weren’t his father, he’d be able to tell. He used to be a cop, after all.

Michonne catches his eye and cocks her head questioningly in the unspoken _“all good?”_ signal. Rick jerks his own head in response, indicating for her to make her way over to him.

He subtly leads her away out of earshot of the rest of the group, noticing out of the corner of his eye as Carl gets up as well, moving to sit by Glenn and Maggie. 

“Everything okay?” Michonne questions as she joins him near the edge of the camp.

Rick nods. “Just wanted to check in on a few things. Get your insight.” It startles him to realize that her insight is the one that matters to him most. Daryl and Glenn are still his right-hand men, but it’s like Michonne has become his _right-hand_ , period. After traveling for weeks on the road together, she’s literally as essential to him as his own limb. 

She nods, fixing him with that same intense stare he’s grown accustomed to since the day she limped up to the prison fence. “Okay.”

“I’m thinking we need to stay in the woods for a few days, then try to find a town, some houses, a gas station…somethin’. Game is scarce and we’ve got too many people. Daryl can’t catch enough for us all.”

“I agree.” Michonne nods again, decisively. “We should stay until the food runs out, then find a road, see where it leads us. 

“As long as it’s away from Terminus.” Rick agrees, then glances back sharply at the camp site when he hears a clattering sound. 

Eugene trips over a few rifles, yelping in fear as he tries to get away from them. “Oh sweet Mary and Joseph -”

“Eugene, they’re not loaded, they’re not gonna discharge.” Rosita reminds him impatiently, letting her half-unsheathed knife fall back. Rick notices that she wasn’t the only one to react to Eugene’s stumble: Daryl, Carol, Abraham and Carl all had weapons in hand. “You don’t have to be afraid of them.”

Michonne scoffs slightly as they watch Eugene slink away, embarrassed, the others relaxing back into their previous conversations. “What do you think of the new people?”

“Well, Eugene’s pretty useless, but seems harmless enough.” Rick replies, watching as Carl finally holsters his gun. He’s the last one to do so.

“Apparently he’s gonna save the world.”

“So I’ve heard.” Rick’s heard a bit of talk amongst the group members, about Abraham’s mission to get Eugene to D.C. He’s frankly surprised the ex-soldier hasn’t tried to recruit him yet, but figures it’s only a matter of time. “I’ve spoken to Tara, and to Glenn about her. He vouches for her one hundred percent.”

Michonne makes a noise of agreement. He knows that she’s probably one of the only people in their group to recognize that Tara had been with the Governor’s people when they attacked the prison. “I’ve spoken to him too. If what he says is true, then she’s a welcome addition in my book.”

Rick gives a tense smile. “Rosita’s clearly completely loyal to Abraham. And Abraham is…he’s the biggest threat, obviously. He’s a leader, he’s used to giving orders. Not sure how he’ll do receiving them.”

“He seems to be doing pretty well with it for now,” points out Michonne. “I have a good feeling about him. I trust him.”

“Carl doesn’t.” Rick hadn’t missed the way that Carl hadn’t been uncomfortable last night until Abraham had laid down near them, how his son’s body hadn’t relaxed until Rick had physically positioned himself between them, at Carl’s request. He also hadn’t missed how wherever Abraham was walking in the group, Carl always seemed to be on the other side of it.

Michonne’s expression turns a bit pained. “Rick…I don’t think that has anything to do with Abraham. I’m sure you know that.”

“Yeah.” Normally, he trusts Carl’s intuition quite a bit - he was the one who’d taken a liking to Michonne first, after all. But he knows better than to think that Carl’s suspicion of Abraham is any indication of the man’s trustworthiness. He only brought it up because he didn’t know how to get into this conversation without some sort of segue. Even now, it’s difficult to get the words out of his mouth. “I’m worried about him,” admits Rick.

“I don’t know why you say that like it’s some big secret, you’re always worried about Carl.” Michonne’s words are teasing, but her eyes are serious. “Especially given the past few days we’ve had.”

Unbidden, flashes of the last few days appear behind his retinas and Rick squeezes his eyes shut, pressing the corners of them with his fingers. “Have you talked to him?”

He knows that she’s talked to him, of course, he saw the tail-end of their conversation right before they arrived at Terminus. But he’s unsure if they’ve really _talked._

“A bit,” Michonne intimates cautiously, clearly torn between respecting the trust she and Carl had, and her loyalty to Rick. “It was mostly about you, what you did. He’s not afraid of you, if you’re worried about that.”

At first he had been, when Carl had seemingly wanted nothing to do with him the morning after it had happened. Even if Carl’s easy assertion that Joe’s gang _had_ deserved what they got hadn’t eased Rick’s mind of this concern, their conversation last night would have cleared it up. When he’d looked into Carl’s eyes last night, it was almost frightening how much of himself he saw reflected back there, though he’d been relieved to find none of the coldness and anger he’d seen in the months immediately after Lori’s death. 

“I’m not.” Rick lowers his voice, even though their conversation was already too discrete for anyone else to hear. “I just…he’s been quiet. It’s not like him. Normally he’d be talking Maggie and Glenn and Carol’s ears off about what we’ve been up to since the prison fell, but he’s barely talked to anybody. It’s like he’s ignoring everyone who isn’t us or Judith.”

“He’s definitely been less talkative than usual, even with me,” agrees Michonne, rubbing the back of her neck. “Have _you_ tried talking to him?”

Something in her tone makes him tense. “I did last night,” he insists tersely. “I told him if he needed anything I’m here.”

Michonne holds up a hand. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Rick.” She assured him. “But I also don’t know if that’s enough. If you’re afraid to talk directly to him about this, he’ll pick up on that. He hates being weak, you know that better than anyone, he’s probably embarrassed that he couldn’t defend himself. And honestly…he’s probably more than a little confused.”

Familiar anger bubbles in his stomach, trying to claw it’s way up his throat. He’s done a pretty good job of shoving it down, focusing on leading his group to safety. Now, as Rick is forced to figure out what his son must be feeling right now, he’s also forced to confront the infuriating reality that he’s been avoiding for the past couple of days: that a grown man had put his hands on his thirteen year old child. 

Rick doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the look that pig had shot him after he’d pulled Carl from the car - it’s seared into his brain, how he’d pulled away from _nuzzling_ his son’s neck with his disgusting face, catching Rick’s death-glare and _smirking_ at him, like he was so excited to violate Rick’s son in front of him, like Rick’s anger was a turn-on for him. He knows he'll be seeing that look in his sleep. 

That...and the sound of Carl’s cries. The sight of him pinned under the man’s body, tiny and helpless compared against the enormous fucker trying to take off his clothes.

“Do you think he even knows what almost happened to him?” Michonne continues, and Rick clenches his teeth.

“I’m not sure.” He and Carl had sat down and had “The Talk” after Lori got pregnant - and while it had been one of the most uncomfortable conversations of Rick’s life, it had been fairly straightforward. Glenn and Maggie weren’t exactly subtle or discrete so Rick was pretty sure Carl had learned a little more than he wanted to just from being subjected to hearing their nightly _lovemaking_ while on the road before the prison. And lord knows what sort of knowledge he’d picked up living amongst the pack of degenerates they called “family.”

“I’ve talked to him about…about rape.” The word is absolutely foul on his tongue and he spits it out as quickly as he can. Michonne’s eyes squeeze closed for a second when he says it. “After Maggie was taken by the Governor, he was worried about her, wanted to know what Glenn was so upset about. I tried to explain it to him, but I don’t know if I did a very good job,” Rick admits. “It was right after Lori and I wasn’t…well. I don’t really remember the conversation very well.” He scoffs bitterly. “I _do_ remember that my biggest concern was making sure he never did that to anyone. Making certain he knew it was never okay to touch someone without their consent. Because that was something I always thought about, whenever we’d bring in some shitbag teenage kid who got a girl drunk at a party. I thought, _that’ll never be_ my _kid. I’ll teach him to treat women right._ So that…yeah, that was my biggest concern. Like I honestly thought Carl could do that to someone.”

“Rick-”

“I don’t think he had any fucking clue that could happen to him, Michonne.” Rick interrupts her, self-disgust staining his voice. He wants to hit something so badly and almost wishes that a walker would stumble upon them so he can take his anger out on it. “I was a _cop_. Of course I knew it’s not just women. I’ve…shit, I arrested a piece of shit once for molesting a kid only a couple years older than Carl is now. I musta checked on him ten times that night, he was only seven…but I didn’t warn him.”

“ _Rick_ ,” Michonne grabs his arm, stopping him from the shame spiral he’s going down. “Warning him wouldn’t have changed anything. The only thing that changed anything was _you_ , what _you did_. You saved him. You saved all of us. And I’m sorry, I know this is hard for you, but you don’t get to wallow in your guilt right now because he needs you. You feel bad about not explaining everything to him before? Fine, then go explain it _now_. Talk to him. And it’s going to be difficult, he’s probably not going to want to, but there are things he needs to understand. Like you said, you were a cop. You know what he needs to hear.”

Rick stares at her for a few beats after she falls silent, until he’s certain she’s done talking. “Since when do you give motivational speeches?”

She juts her chin up at him pompously. “Since forever. I did Toastmasters in college.”

“I won’t even pretend to know what that is.”

“Speech club, you hick.”

Rick smirks, her humor already helping to lift some of the heaviness that had settled on his shoulders during their conversation. He spies Carl shooting glances at him from his spot near the center of camp, obviously wondering when he’s going to come back so they can sleep, and his smirk drops. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.” Rick promises. “It’s dark out, and we’re all exhausted,” he defends when Michonne gives him a disapproving look. “He’s ready for bed.”

The hardness in Michonne’s eyes fades. “You mean ‘he’s ready for _leaves_.’” She quips, leisurely beginning to walk back to camp with him. “There are no beds out here.”

“You’re complaining about not having a bed? So spoiled…”

Their lighthearted bickering continues all the way over to the kids, who are both clearly more than ‘ready for leaves.’ Judith is actually already dozing off, while Carl blinks back sleep from his eyes as he nestles down around her, just as he had the previous night. And just as she had the previous night, Michonne wordlessly lays down beside Carl. 

Rick assumes last night’s position as well, once again feeling Carl’s back relax against him. He’s grateful that after everything, his presence still makes his son feel safer. But it’s painful to think about why Carl needs that sense of security.

Despite his troubled thoughts, exhaustion helps him drift off fairly easily. Sooner than he’d like however, he’s shaken out of his thankfully-dreamless-sleep by the feel of movement against him. It takes him a moment to orient himself, to remember where he is and who he’s with, and then another moment to recognize that the random spasm that yanked him from slumber is Carl twitching rather violently in his sleep. Obviously his sleep is  _not_ dreamless.

He rolls over so that he can face Carl. He tries to do so gently, so as not to disturb him, but his efforts are in vain. As soon as their bodies cease physical contact with each other, Carl jerks awake with a soft cry. The noise and movement unfortunately rouse Judith, who immediately starts crying.

“Rick…” Dary calls lowly and warningly, from his position on watch.

“I’ve got it.” Rick calls back, moving to take Judith from her brother, but Carl rolls back over, rubbing soothing hands over Judith’s back. “Carl, I can take her,” he adds in a much quieter voice, trying not to rouse anyone who hasn't already been disturbed by the clamor. 

“No.” Carl stubbornly wraps his arms around Judith, his voice shaky, not sounding entirely awake. “I have to protect her. I have to. I have to protect her.”

Rick’s about to gently insist that he hand his sister over, until Judith stops crying, effectively comforted by Carl’s actions. He decides not to tempt fate, and settles back down to try and fall asleep again.

The sound of quiet sniffling reaches his ears. It’s clearly coming from Carl, not Judith, and Rick can tell that he’s trying really hard not to make any noise. Michonne’s words earlier about Carl not wanting to seem weak come back to him and Rick’s heart clenches. 

He turns so that his chest is against Carl’s back and hugs his son to him, trying to wordlessly comfort him, to let him know that it’s okay to cry. Carl stiffens and for a moment it occurs to him that maybe this is a bad idea, that touching him like this might remind him of being pinned to the ground. Then Carl relaxes and leans into his embrace, continuing to cry silently, his thin shoulders shaking.

“It’s okay.” Rick murmurs, kissing the top of his head. One of Carl’s hands moves from it’s grip on Judith and grabs at Rick’s hand, clutching it tightly. “It’s okay. I love you. I love you so much. Shhh. It’s okay…Shhh…”

They stay like that until Carl falls asleep, and Rick unpeels himself from his son, knowing that when Carl is fully awake he won't want to be caught cuddling with his father. He adjusts himself so that their backs are against each other again, careful not to break contact this time. He heaves a heavy sigh, rubbing his face with his hands.

 _Tomorrow_ , he resolves himself, _we’ll talk tomorrow._


	7. i can see clearly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Heavy chapter.  
> Warning: This chapter deals with heavy topics surrounding rape, pedophilia, and some issues specific to male sexual assault. There is a brief flashback to the first chapter. There is also referenced homophobia (not the main characters).

“Carl. Come help me get water.”

It’s a direct order, not a question. Carl deposits Judith into Tyreese’s eager arms, noticing how his sister’s face lights up when the large man scrunches his face playfully at her. 

An ugly, bitter feeling hits him unexpectedly at the sight. Tyreese saved Judith’s life, he pulled her from the wreckage of the prison and cared for her during the weeks between the prison’s fall and Terminus. Carl shouldn’t feel anything but gratitude for him.

And he _is_ grateful, but seeing Judith so happy and comfortable with a man who was basically a stranger to her a few weeks ago rubs him the wrong way for some reason. He tries not to dwell on it as he follows his father away from the camp, lugging a pack of mostly-empty water bottles. 

He knows why Dad’s doing this. The stream they found is about a five minute walk away from their temporary camp. That plus the time it will take them to complete the task will give them plenty of time to _talk_.

Which Carl really, really does not want to do, so he walks a few paces ahead of Dad, the brim of his hat shoved low over his eyes in a futile attempt to hide his face. 

Ordinarily he doesn’t dread conversations with his father. After Mom died and Dad became cold and distant, Carl learned to crave his father’s attention. As much as having to give up his gun and spend all day in the ninety degree weather planting vegetables had sucked, he’d enjoyed being able to talk with Dad everyday.

Today however, he isn’t looking forward to it. Last night was a bit of a blur, honestly, but what he remembers is enough to embarrass him. He’d woken from a nightmare, made Judith cry, refused to give her to his dad and babbled something about needing to protect her, and then cried while Dad had to hold him like _he_ was the baby.

Yeah, no. Not looking forward to explaining that.

They make it all the way to the creek without either of them speaking and start unpacking the water bottles. Then Dad clears his throat.

“Carl…” He says in his _let’s have a talk, son_ voice and Carl groans inwardly. “We should talk.”

“Dad, I’m fine.” Carl insists, wanting this conversation to be over before it even starts. “I had a bad dream and I was confused when I woke up. I’m sorry I didn’t give you Judith, I think I might’ve still been mostly asleep.”

He starts filling the first water bottle up, avoiding his father’s gaze and hoping that he’ll drop it.

“Actually, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.” Dad surprises him, and Carl drops his guard, turning to face him. For some reason, he looks nervous, like he’s afraid to talk to him. “It’s been a few days since everything happened and I wanted to check in, see how you’re doing.”

His face burns with embarrassment. Right. Dad just wanted to “check in”, the morning after Carl cried himself to sleep. There’s no way those two events weren't related. “I’m fine,” he repeats. “I told you the other day, I’m not panicking. I thought we already talked about this.”

“About the cannibals.” Dad agrees, then shakes his head slightly, probably in disbelief that _cannibals_ are even a concern for them. “But we haven’t talked about what happened the night before Terminus.”

Carl’s throat tightens. He wants to have this conversation even less than he wants to talk about last night. “Do we need to?”

“ _Yes_ ,” insists Dad, voice firm. “Yes we do. I should have talked to you right after it happened. I’m sorry I didn’t, I wanted to wait until we got to Terminus, and then there was just too much going on.”

“I mean, what is there to talk about?” Carl deflects, trying to brush it off. “We were attacked, they tried to kill us, and we defended ourselves. We did what we had to do.” He means “we” as in the group, not himself. Carl didn’t do a damn thing, obviously.

“Yes we did.” Dad confirms. “And I already know we’re on the same page about that. But I wanted to talk about you, specifically, how you’re feeling.”

Carl sets down the water bottle he’s filling as he considers the question. He knows Dad won’t just accept “fine” as an answer, not when he came all the way out here to talk to him about this. And even if he gets him to drop the conversation for now, his father will probably just keep pushing the issue later if he’s not satisfied with their talk. 

“I guess…a little embarrassed.” He settles on, feeling that it’s a safe enough answer. One that will hopefully ensure that he doesn’t have to discuss this in the future. 

“Why's that?” Dad prompts.

Carl huffs, feeling the answer is obvious. “Because I was weak. I couldn’t protect myself.”

“Well, do you think think Maggie’s weak?” Dad presses. “That she can’t protect herself?”

“Of course not.” Carl’s not sure where his father’s going with this or why he brought Maggie into this out of nowhere, but his offense on Maggie’s behalf distracts him from his confusion. “She’s one of the strongest of us. Why would I think she’s weak?”

“Because of what happened with the Governor.” 

The hairs on the back of his neck prickle hotly as he understands the comparison Dad’s trying to make. “That’s not the same thing.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it just _isn’t._ ” Carl isn’t entirely sure what exactly happened with Maggie and the Governor. At first everyone thought he’d raped her - Glenn had been convinced of it, and had been stomping around the prison in a rage. Then, rumors had reached him that the Governor hadn’t raped her, but had threatened to and acted like he was going to. 

Whatever exactly happened isn’t important right now though, because Carl knows that it’s a completely different thing than what happened to him the other night. “That was, I mean that was about sex right? The Governor wanted to have sex with her, or at least made her think that he did.”

Dad sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Well, first of all, there’s a difference between sex and rape. Sex is about what two people want, rape is about what one person wants and hurting another person to get it. And often it’s not really about sexual attraction at all, but about power and control. The Governor touched Maggie and made her think he was going to rape her in order to frighten and control her.”

He understands the distinction his father is trying to make here, remembers his stern lecture about consent back at the prison. But that’s not really the point right now. “Okay, but it was still about sex, or...rape, I guess. So it was different.”

A pained look crosses his father’s face. “Carl…that’s what makes it the same.” 

His skin is suddenly tight and hot against his muscles, stretched too thin. Part of him already knows what Dad’s trying to say, understands that there has to be a reason _why_ the man had touched him the way he did and that it has something to do with sex somehow. It just doesn’t make sense though.

“Do you know what he was trying to do to you?” 

Carl’s mouth falls open to answer, but he finds that he is wordless. 

He hears Joe’s words, sees the dark look on Dad’s face, feels the horrible unnamable fear in his gut, spreading through his body, making his limbs shake. Almost like his body comprehended what his mind can't.

 _we’ll have the girl, then_ _the_ boy _…._

“No.” He admits. “No, I…I knew it was gonna be bad, but I don’t know what he wanted with me.”

From his father’s expression, _he_ knows, and Carl is terrified to find out. To put a name to the primal fear that had taken over him that night. But his mouth stays shut and then after what seems like an eternity, Dad’s finally opens.

“He wanted to rape you.” Dad’s voice is strained. “He was trying to rape you.”

The same part of his brain that understood what Dad was trying to say earlier accepts this, was expecting it even. Yes, of course this is where this conversation was going. That’s why Dad said it was the same as what happened to Maggie. It makes perfect sense.

 _Except_ , the rest of his brain screams, _it makes no fucking sense_.

“No,” his mouth blurts before he can even stop to process what the only functioning part of his mind is trying to tell him. “He wasn’t.”

“Carl-”

“How is that even - I don’t understand. I thought that was only…” _I thought that was only girls_ , he almost says, but then his brain starts kicking into gear, piecing things together. His second grade homeroom teacher who lived with a guy, which some of the kids would laugh about, and a lot of the parents would whisper about. Snippets of conversations he’d heard throughout his life, at the prison. Daryl’s brother Merle cracking snide jokes about Daryl and Dad being “butt-budies” and asking which one of them was “taking it up the ass.”

His breath catches in his throat. He can feel the fat, greasy man shoving his hand down under his boxers, groping him, one of his fingers pushing against his asshole, like he was about to shove it up there, and oh god he probably had been (and that’s not all he would’ve shoved up there oh god oh god), the weight against his legs is crushing, the hand stroking his back and his stomach, brushing against his waistband, eager and impatient, his own shameful erection, the man’s gleeful laughter fills his ears and a sinister voice saying _I bet you cry so pretty_ and _you’re all mine_ and _your daddy can watch_ over and over again.

 _“Carl.”_ Something touches his left cheek, snapping him out of it. “Hey, look at me. You’re here. You’re with me. It’s okay.”

Carl shakes himself, trying to calm his shallow breathing. His head feels like it’s full of water for some reason and his vision swims. “I don’t understand,” he repeats, voice small even to his own ears. “Why would he want that from me? What’d-what’d I do?”

“Nothing.” Dad insists, his voice furious. “You did nothing. This was all him, you understand me? Him, and their leader…all of them. They were sick, like the Terminus people are sick. Gareth and the others, what they wanted to do to us, was that our fault? Did we do something that would make them want to _eat_ us?”

“No?” Carl blinks, and his father’s face comes into focus a little more. He’s completely abandoned the task of filling the water canteens and is crouching in front of him, hand on Carl’s cheek.

Dad nods, brushing his thumb against Carl’s face. “No,” he agrees. “It’s the same thing. You didn’t do anything. If you need a reason, someone to blame, you can blame me. It’s my fault they came after us, for killing that man in the bathroom-”

But Carl’s already shaking his head. He knows his father isn’t at fault for that. “You were trying to protect us.” He remembers Dad explaining it to him after they’d fled the neighborhood, saying that while he was hidden they’d found Michonne’s things and talked about hurting her. Dad had been vague about what that meant, but he’d understood at the time that it was probably the same way the Governor had hurt Maggie. “I just don’t…why was it me?”

 _Why not Michonne_ is unspoken, yet implied. Carl feels horrible for asking the question. It’s not that he wants for them to have tried to hurt Michonne, he just can’t help wondering why they hadn’t gone after her instead. They’d said that they were going to “have” both of them (and now he knows what that means), even said they were going to have Michonne first, but then the fat man had shoved him down and Michonne had been untouched.

“Because it was about me, not you.” Dad explains. “They wanted to hurt me and they knew that was the best way to do it. If it had been Michonne instead I would’ve still been angry and afraid…but you and Judith are my world, Carl. If anything happens to you, it’ll destroy me.” 

Carl stares at his father, the raw emotion behind his words only hinting at something heavier than he could possibly ever comprehend. He can’t imagine ever loving something that much. When he thought Judith was dead it was devastating, he’d felt like the worst kind of failure, and it was like all the hope in the world had abruptly been snuffed out. But he’d carried on, picked himself up, continued surviving. The kind of love his father is talking about…he can’t even begin to imagine it.

Dad clears his throat, wiping at his eyes with his free hand. “I wish I could tell you that no one will ever touch you like that again, Carl, but I - I can’t. I can’t make a promise like that, not when there are people like that out in the world. There are people who won’t just hurt you in spite of the fact that you’re young, but _because_ you’re young. They’ll go out of their way to hurt you because it’ll hurt the people around you, because they’ll think it’s easier, or just because they enjoy it. I’m sorry. I’m not telling you this to scare you, but because you need to know. Okay?”

“Okay,” Carl echoes, feeling like he’s aged five years since they started this conversation. His head is spinning with all this new information, his shoulders bowing under the weight of it. 

“There was nothing you did that caused it, nothing you could have done to prevent it,” reiterates Dad, his voice shaking. “You’re not weak, Carl. You’re one of the strongest people I know. Far stronger than I was at your age. But that doesn’t mean you have to be strong all the time. Whatever you’re feeling is okay, and you can always talk to me about it. Even if it feels small or silly. That’s how you heal. Pretending to be fine when you’re not won’t make you stronger - it’ll only weaken you.”

Carl mulls this over. That does sort of make sense. When Mom died he hadn’t wanted to talk about it with anyone, shutting himself off in the same way he saw his father doing. Eventually talking about his feelings with a few people (Michonne, Beth, Hershel…he hadn’t dared talk to Dad about it) hadn’t made it better exactly, but it had eased the ache.

Right now though, he doesn’t think he can handle any more discussion on the topic. He feels spent, exhausted before they’ve even started the day’s journey. “Can we…can I do that later?” Carl requests quietly. “I promise I will, I just…I can’t right now.”

Dad nods and packs up the water bottles, now full of ready-to-boil water. “Of course.” He lovingly brushes Carl’s bangs out of his eyes. “We need to get you a haircut.”

Recognizing this as a cue that their conversation is now over, Carl slumps in relief. “Well, lemme know if you find any scissors lying around…” He jokes, helping Dad with his task.

“I’m sure we could do it with a really sharp knife. Too bad Michonne doesn’t have her sword anymore.”

“Maybe I’ll grow it out. I’ve always wanted to try that.”

“I hope Eugene’s hair isn’t giving you any ideas.”

“I’m thinking more like Daryl’s. He has cool hair.”

“Christ.”

By the time they get back to the camp, their moods are considerably lighter. 

And if anyone notices that father and son both have red eyes, they don’t say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Merle said the thing about Rick/Daryl because he was a homophobic asshole who was jealous about Daryl finding a new (*cough* better *cough*) brother. They weren't actually having sex. This is not in any way a jab at the Rickyl ship which I don't personally ship but don't mind either (I'm 100% Richonne trash, so there's that, but unlike the majority of the fandom I have absolutely no preference about who Daryl ends up with).
> 
> This chapter was extremely difficult for me to write, because I think as a cop Rick would have certain knowledge about how to help sexual assault victims, but then there's the added complication of Carl being his son so that makes it more emotional for him, and then there's the complication that all of the advice online for parents is specifically directed at the parents of girls and there's almost nothing that accounts for the slightly different issues of male sexual assault, and then there's the complication that half of the advice is basically like "take them to therapy" and Rick obviously doesn't have that option, and THEN there's also complication of the fact that they're not safe and not only could it happen again, but it could happen again tomorrow. So yeah, clearly a lot of "complication"s, and I hope I did it justice. Getting Rick and Carl to the point where they've both acknowledged what happened was always going to be the hardest part of this fic (damn you, show), so moving forward things should be a lot easier (for me, not for them).


	8. causes i don't understand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed I wrote myself into corner with Rick saying they were going to find a road the next day, so I changed that. I wanted to have a bit more time pass so that the events of 5a take more than the four days they're supposed to on the show. Carl's age is an annoying thing to accommodate for (in this story he's 13, on the cusp of turning 14, which I think is fairly realistic given the timeline and Chandler looking relatively young for his age - let's just pretend that he has an enormous growth spurt from Season 3-Season 4, okay?), made even more annoying than it needs to be by the fact that the show refuses to let Judith grow at the same rate and also because the show claims that it hasn't even been two years by the start of Season 7 which...what? Do they think we're blind? 
> 
> So I'm attempting to compensate for the show's stupidity on this by stretching out some events a little longer. At this point let's just say that it's been almost two years since the walker outbreak started (with the events of season 7 occurring almost a year later). I'm going to stretch out the stuff on the road to D.C. a bit, as well as the Alexandria stuff (because there's absolutely no reason for them not to take a bit of time between when Rick kills Pete and the herd coming...none.) That will give me room to not only fix the timeline, but also add in little side plots so that this story does more than just follow the show.

They spend another four days trekking through the woods, much to Abraham's dismay. He wants to get them on the road to D.C. as soon as possible, but Dad's wary.

"If any Terminus people escaped, the odds of them finding us if we follow a path is too high for me to be comfortable.” Dad argues on the second day, his patience thin as Abraham dogs his steps at the front of the group. 

“Won't be a problem if we acquire a vehicle."

“But you’re assuming we’ll be able to find one that _runs,_ with a full tank of gas, out in the middle of nowhere-”

Carl watches their interaction closely as he walks behind them. He’s reminded vividly of Shane, the way that he would question Dad, and Dad would rebuff his concerns. At first they’d both been calm about it, though over time their arguments had eventually boiled over as they lost patience and respect for each other. 

He finds himself wondering about Shane suddenly, curious what his dead godfather would think about the man that his father’s become. Would they get along better, with Dad’s perspective on the world closer to the way Shane had seen it before his death? Or would Dad have even less patience for Shane’s erratic behavior and blatant disloyalty?

Abraham throws up his hands with a subdued “ _Fine,”_ as he caves to Dad’s argument, then pivots to make his way back to Eugene. He catches Carl looking at him and gives him a curt nod and a vaguely uncomfortable smile.

Most of the new people don’t attempt to talk to him. At first Carl doesn't notice it, he’s so busy keeping his distance from Abraham. Then after the first couple of days pass and he relaxes slightly, he realizes that Rosita, Eugene, and Abraham seem to be actively avoiding interacting with _him_. Maybe it's because he was standoffish at first. Maybe he freaked them out with his little speech in the traincar. Maybe Dad threatened to murder them in their sleep if they so much as looked at him.

Whatever the cause, Tara is apparently either immune or just doesn’t give a shit.

“It was the summer of ’04.” She reminisces blissfully, twirling her knife between her fingertips. “I was a camp counselor - Camp Timber Ridge. You ever go to summer camp?”

“Only day camp. My parents were gonna let me go to sleep away camp the summer after seventh grade, but…” 

“That sucks.” Tara sympathizes.

Carl shrugs. Of all the rites of passages that he’s missed out on, summer camp is one that he definitely doesn’t feel any longing for. “It’s fine. I’ve gotten plenty of camping experience since then,” he adds wryly.

Tara chuckles. “Yeah fair enough.”

They’re near the back of the group, with only Glenn and Maggie bringing up the rear behind them. Carl had been walking by himself until Tara suddenly materialized next to him and started talking at him like they’d known each other for years. He doesn’t mind - he actually sort of likes it, she’s funny and probably the closest person in age to him in the entire group. She talks to him like they’re just friends hanging out.

“So. Camp Timber Lake. Summer of ’04. There’s like thirty of us stuck together all summer, which means crazy hormones raging all over the place.” Tara recounts. “Of course all the guys fall in love with the same girl, Heather Gibbons, one of the lifeguards. They called her Baywatch. After the kids were off to bed we’d all hang out by the lake and all the dudes would show off trying to get her attention. But what none of them realized of course was the she was _gaaaaayyyyy_ , dude.”

Carl almost trips over a root. That’s not where he was expecting the story to go. “Really?”

“Gay as the fourth of July.” She affirms, grinning.

He’s not really sure what that means (why would the fourth of July be gay?). “How’d you know? I mean, how can you tell?” Carl asks curiously. Nobody’s ever talked about this stuff with him before. 

“Well some people claim they’ve got gaydar, but I call bullshit on that one,” snorts Tara. “If it exists I don’t have it and it would’ve saved me a lot of awkward moments, let me tell you. Honestly it’s hard to tell especially with girls because I have this theory that all women are at least a _little_ gay. Like I don’t think there’s a woman alive who hasn’t checked out another woman’s ass at least once. It’s even harder to tell now because apparently the end of the world means everyone has to wear flannel, which used to be a lesbian thing. Sort of. Mostly.”

Carl feels more confused than he did before Tara started her rambling explanation. “But how’d you know Heather was gay?” he almost says _as the fourth of July_ but stops himself. It would probably sound stupid if he said it.

“Oh.” Tara laughs. “Because she would sneak out of her cabin in the middle of the night to hook up with me by the lake.”

His face burns with embarrassment. Duh. She basically just told him she was gay, he realizes. Carl laughs awkwardly, trying to cover up his surprise. “The guys were probably happy about that.”

“Oh, it was _incredible_.” Tara groans, grinning facetiously. “The last day of camp, everyone was saying their goodbyes and all the guys were all over her like Heather, babe, give me your number, let’s stay in touch, and she just pushed past all of them and made out with me for like a full minute. With tongue. In front of her _parents_. That’s how she came out to them, actually.”

“Wow.” Carl has a million questions but doesn’t know how to ask them without sounding like an idiot. _What do you do with your tongue while you’re kissing?_ _What does ‘came out’ mean? How do two girls even have sex?_

Man, he misses Google.

“We ‘dated’ for the rest of the summer,” Tara continues, using air quotes. “We lived too far away to see each other so it was mostly phone calls, then once school started again we were too busy. But it was fun…” she concludes, wistful. Probably wondering where Heather is now. If she’s still alive or if she’s one of the dead bodies roaming around.

It’s weird to think that she was only a little older than him in that story. Carl can’t even imagine kissing a girl, much less making out with one in front of her parents. The only kiss he’s ever had from a girl was one time when Sophia kissed him on the cheek, which had been totally unexpected but…surprisingly nice. He’d sort of thought she might like him and he’d thought she was cute, but being constantly under the supervision of protective adults made developing that sort of thing impossible. Especially since they were constantly running for their lives.

Then, later, there was Beth. _That_ had hit him hard like a bullet to the chest one day while they were out on the road before the prison. They’d been holed up in a rundown motel (one of the many places they’d deluded themselves into thinking they could make into a home before it inevitably became overrun), all huddled together for warmth, and Beth had looked at him and laughed at something he’d said and he’d been struck so suddenly by how _beautiful_ she was. 

From then on he’d been smitten - everything about her was just so perfect, and it felt so colossally unfair that she was four years older than him. Carl had reasoned that it shouldn’t matter, four years wasn’t that big of a difference and he was mature for his age. But she always seemed to look at him like he was a little kid no matter what he did…it probably hadn’t helped that he had been like a full foot shorter than him. 

After mom and during everything with the Governor all that angst had been pushed to the wayside. Even after all that settled, things were just different, and he hadn’t even been upset when Beth started dating someone. He understood that she’d never be interested, that even if they were the same age she probably wouldn’t feel the same way. Whatever Carl was now, whatever monster shooting his mother in the head had turned him into, it wasn’t the sort of thing that got to have normal things like girlfriends.

Carl tries not to dwell on this as they continue their journey. His thoughts instead turn to what Tara was talking about. He wonders if girls who like girls like them for the same reasons that boys do - would Tara have thought Beth was pretty, for instance? Or was there something else that attracted them? Tara mentioned something called ‘gaydar’, even though she said it was bullshit. Could some gay people tell when other people were gay? Did it make them more attracted to them? Was there a certain type of person who attracted gay people or -

“ _Help! Help! Anybody, help!_ ”

Carl’s body jerks instinctively toward the sound, but he hears everyone freeze behind him. He hisses between his teeth, turning back to his father, who has his hand raised in the _stop_ signal.

“Dad, come on!” He urges. 

Dad hesitates. The screams grow more desperate. 

“ _Come on_!” Carl insists, pleadingly. There’s fourteen of them and they’re all armed. They can at least go _see_ who’s begging for help. “Come on!”

As soon as his father relents, Carl bolts toward the noise.

The screams are coming from a man trapped on a huge boulder, surrounding by only four walkers. Instead of attempting to take out the walkers somehow, or standing calmly on the rock out of their reach, the man is on his back, flailing and screaming. One of the walkers has hold of his shoe and reaches to take a bite -

 _Bang!_ Carl slams a bullet into the back of its skull and it falls away. The other three walkers turn toward the sound, only to be attacked and efficiently killed by Dad, Michonne, and Carol. A fifth walker comes around from the walker and advances on Carol, only to be quickly dispatched by Daryl’s crossbow. 

It’s all over in a matter of seconds.

Dad checks around the boulder for more lurkers. “We’re clear. Keep watch.”

On top of the rock, the man they just rescued hunches like a crab, still shaking and terrified despite the fact the threat is long over. He’s dressed oddly, in an all black suit with a white collar. It takes Carl a second to place the clothing…a priest. He’s a priest.

“Come on down.”

The priest tentatively slides off the rock. His face lurches.

“You okay?” Dad asks him, evaluating.

The priest holds up a finger…and then hurls, right in front of Carl’s feet.

Carl makes a face as the smell hits him, wrinkling his nose and turning away so that none of it gets on his shoes. Gross. When the retching noise stops, he turns back and sees the priest wiping at his mouth. “Sorry,” he whispers.

While the vomiting is gross, Carl has to wonder what kind of person throws up after being attacked by five walkers at this point. Okay yeah, he’d vomited not that long ago after a walker attack, but that was because he’d had three walkers fall directly on top of him and nearly crush him. This man had been trapped on top of a rock, and he’d seemed completely clueless as to how to handle the situation. 

“Yes,” the priest finally answers Dad’s question. “Thank you. I’m Gabriel-”

“Do you have any weapons on you?”

Gabriel immediately breaks into nervous laughter and looks around. “Do I look like I’d have any weapons?”

“We don’t give two short and curlies what it looks like,” Abraham interjects.

The priest’s face falls. “I have no weapons of any kind. The word of God is the only protection I need.”

Carl resists the urge to laugh. He glances around at his group and sees that most of them are similarly unimpressed.

Daryl voices what they’re all thinking: “Sure didn’t look like it.”

“I called for help.” Gabriel points out. “Help came.”

That is such a terrible strategy. Carl can’t even wrap his mind around how _terrible_ a strategy that is. After all, help probably wouldn’t have come if he hadn’t been there to spur his father into action. 

Gabriel looks around at all of them, taking in the distrust on their faces and clearly growing more uncomfortable by the second. “Do you have any food? Whatever I had left, it’s just hit the ground.”

He sounds so desperate and starving that Carl can’t help but feel bad for him. They can’t afford to give him any of their meager supply of squirrels but… “We’ve got some pecans,” he offers, reaching into his pocket and offering Gabriel a small handful.

Gabriel reaches forward to accept, hesitantly glancing at Dad who steps in closer to Carl as soon as Gabriel does. “Thank you.” The priest says graciously, nodding at Carl, before nervously moving out of his personal space, glancing at Dad again. His eyes shift around again and his face softens upon seeing Judith. “That’s a beautiful child…”

As if Dad wasn’t already suspicious enough, the mention of Judith makes him glare even harder at Gabriel. Sensing this, Carl looks over at him and wonders when his patience is going to run out.

“Do you have a camp?”

“No.” Dad shoots down immediately. “Do _you_?”

“I have a church.”

And, just like that, Dad’s limit is up. “Hold your hands above your head.”

He roughly pats Gabriel down, asking him the questions: 

“How many walkers have you killed?”

“Not any, actually.”

“How many people have you killed?”

Gabriel looks appalled. “ _None_.”

“Why?”

Fear flashes in Gabriel’s eyes and Carl has to imagine what his father looks like from an outsider’s perspective: dirty, blood splatters on his shirt, asking why Gabriel has never killed anyone. He looks like a killer. 

“Because the Lord abhors violence.”

Dad moves in close, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What have you done?” The priest’s eyebrows furrow and he glances around at the group, confused. “We’ve all done something.”

Suddenly Gabriel seems to grow a spine. “I’m a sinner. I sin almost everyday. But those sins I confess them to God…not strangers.”

He agrees to take them to his church. It’s a pretty straightforward trade: they saved his life and now he’s offering them shelter. But everyone is suspicious of his motivations, particularly Dad.

Everything Gabriel says seems to make Dad more suspicious. Carl understands why he’s being paranoid, but also thinks he’s overreacting a bit. There’s something about Gabriel that’s so harmless it’s comical. That walker really had been less than a second away from biting into his leg - there’s no way that Gabriel could’ve known someone would’ve saved him literally in the last second.

His other survival skills frankly suck too, joking about leading them into a trap and stealing their squirrels. Carl can tell that it’s just a shitty sense of humor combined with absolutely zero people skills. He’s socially awkward, having been stranded on his own for a long time.

Judith gets antsy in the carrier on his back so Carl takes her out and is carrying her against his chest when the church comes into view. It’s worn and a little dilapidated, but seems sturdy enough.

Gabriel walks up the steps and takes out his keys.

“Hold up.” Dad stops him, climbing up after him. “Let us take a look around first. We just wanna hold onto our squirrels,” he adds dryly when Gabriel shoots him an incredulous look.

As Dad, Michonne, Daryl, Carol and Glenn sweep the place, Carl peeks inside from a safe distance. He hasn’t been to a church since that one they found the day he got shot. This one is smaller, more private. It also doesn’t appear to have any walkers in it, so that's a plus too.

Dad gives the “all clear” whistle and comes out to give the keys back to Gabriel.

“I spent months here without stepping out the front door.” Gabriel tells them. “If you found someone inside…well, it would have been surprising.”

Carl’s bones sag with relief as it hits him that they’re going to get to sleep _indoors_ tonight, surrounded by walls and maybe even with some blankets. A wave of gratitude washes over him. “Thanks for this,” he tells Gabriel empathetically, because he realizes that they’ve all been pretty rude so far to this stranger who’s offering them safety for the first time in god knows how long.

His relieved smile falters when Dad shoots him a look. Carl’s not really sure exactly what that look is supposed to convey, but his father’s disapproval is apparent. Carl ducks his head down sheepishly, focusing instead on Judith’s half-lidded eyes. She’s tired and probably needs to take a nap soon.

“We found a short bus out back,” Abraham is saying. “It don’t run, but I bet we could fix that in a day or two. The father here says he doesn’t want it. Looks like we found ourselves some transport. You understand what’s at stake here, right?” He adds, sounding irritated as Dad ignores him in favor of stroking Judith’s hair.

“Yes I do,” replies Dad, not taking his eyes off of Judith.

“Now that we can take a _breath_?” Michonne demands, which Carl is grateful for. They just got here, he doesn’t want to get back on the road right away. They all need a break.

“We take a breath we slow down,” barks back Abraham. “Shit inevitably goes down.”

“We need supplies no matter what we do next,” she retorts.

“That’s right.” Agrees Dad decisively, stepping back from Judith and walking up into the church. “Water, food, ammunition.”

Carl follows his father and immediately starts scavenging the little church, looking for someplace for Judith to sleep. He lucks out and finds a perfectly sized wicker basket, managing to squash one of the pillows from the couch down into it and lining it with a soft blanket. While everyone is getting situated and trying to figure out their next move, he busies himself lulling Judith to sleep.

Everyone splits off with their separate missions. Tyreese is staying behind to look out for Judith, but at the moment he’s helping Abraham with something so it’s just Dad and Carl alone in the church with a sleeping Judith. 

“Look,” Dad says in a quiet voice so that he’s unheard by the others who are waiting for him outside. “I don’t trust this guy and-”

“Why?” Carl questions, confused. Gabriel has done nothing except help them so far, providing them with a sanctuary when they so desperately needed one.

Dad pauses. “Well why do you trust him?”

Carl wasn’t really expecting the question to be thrown back in his face and he finds he doesn’t have an adequate answer ready. “Everybody can’t be bad,” he replies finally. 

That’s clearly not the answer Dad’s hoping for. “Yeah…well, _I_ don’t trust this guy. And that’s why I’m bringing him with me. But he could have friends, so I need you to stay alert and help Tyreese protect Judith. Okay?”

Carl nods, having expected this. He’d known he wasn’t going to be allowed to go to food bank to get supplies with them, and honestly he’s sort of grateful for the opportunity to just sit down for a bit.

Something serious passes over Dad’s face - the same look that he gave Carl earlier when he thanked Gabriel. “Now. I need you to hear what I’m about to say.” 

“Okay.”

“You are not safe.” Dad tells him sternly. “No matter how many people are around, no matter how clear the area looks, no matter what anyone says, no matter what you _think_. You are not safe.”

Carl feels his relief at being behind walls again falter as the weight of what his father is saying hits him. He can remember being younger, asking his father _are we safe now Dad?_ and Dad reassuring him, trying to make him feel as secure as possible. 

There’s none of that reassurance in his father’s eyes now. “It only takes one second. One second, and it’s _over_. Never let your guard down. Ever. I want you to promise me.”

“I promise.” Carl agrees, subdued. He thinks about Dad’s suspicion of Gabriel, the fear that was behind it. Fear that he’d turn out like the people at Terminus, or even Joe’s group. 

“Good.” Dad stands up, preparing to leave.

“Dad.” Carl calls out to him, feeling a million thoughts running through his head. He knows that his father’s right, that they need to be alert, but something still doesn’t sit right with him. “What you said the other day…you were right. I am strong. We both are. But…we’re strong enough that we can still help people. And we can handle ourselves if things go wrong. And we’re strong enough that we don’t _have_ to be afraid. And we don’t have to hide.”

His father nods, taking in everything he says without immediately dismissing it, which Carl is grateful for. “Well he’s hiding something,” he points out.

Carl thinks about the look on Gabriel’s face when Dad asked him what he’d done. He’d seemed confused and frightened, but maybe there was more to his fear than being intimidated by his father’s thorough questioning. Carl nods in return. Maybe Gabriel is hiding something. “I’ll stay safe, Dad.” He promises again.

Later, after Tyreese has returned and Judith is sound asleep, Carl starts searching the church thoroughly. There’s nothing inside that seems off, thought admittedly he hasn’t been in enough churches to know what should and shouldn’t be there. Gabriel appears to have been speaking the truth about being weaponless at least. The only thing Carl can find is a dull letter opener, and it’s spotless - assumedly it’s only ever been used for its assigned task.

He heads outside, eyeing the woods that closely surround the church. The foliage is so thick that no one would find it unless they stumbled across it. And the dense wooded cover provides a fairly adequate defense against walkers since herds are more likely to stick to an open area. 

As Abraham, Rosita, and Eugene work on the bus, Carl starts examining the walls. The wood is run down and worn, weathered by more than just the past couple years of disrepair. Gabriel doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would have kept his church in poor condition before the turn. 

There’s a clatter from the bus and the sound of something breaking.

“Son of a monkey dick!”

Carl doesn’t turn to see what has Abraham swearing. Instead, he looks closer at the walls.

The marks around the windows are deep gauges, deeper than walker fingers and teeth. He runs his own finger over them, noticing how narrow and pointed to divots are. Knife marks.

For a moment he pretends he’s Dad, before, back when he was a police officer. Tries to imagine that his is a crime scene and he’s examining the evidence. Carl thinks about what reasons he would have for using his knife on the window. Some of the marks are close to the edge, like they were trying to pry the wood away. Trying to get in. But some of them are more wild, erratic. Desperate.

Carl walks around the corner, following the trail of knife marks. He’s paying attention to the windows so closely that he almost misses it until it’s right in front of his face.

There, etched into the faded white paint of the church are the ominous words:

_You will burn for this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Chandler and Alanna are bros and if you pay attention you can sometimes see that dynamic in the background of group scenes, even as early on as when Abraham's group returns to the hug and Carl hugs Tara...not Glenn or Maggie. So this fic is going to explore that dynamic a bit and I actually have a bit of an arc planned out for them.
> 
> I both love and hate the scene where Rick talks to Carl in the church. On the one hand, the sentiment of Rick telling Carl he isn't safe even though they finally appear to be in a safe place is a powerful one, because all Rick wanted to do before was to make Carl feel safe. And I love that. But I hate the rest of the conversation because 1.) the jump from 'we don't have to hide' to 'well he's hiding something' is a little too slick and not one that people would make in a regular conversation. In a natural conversation, Rick's response would be to actually address what Carl has said, not to make a freaking play on words. And 2.) there appears to be a whole chunk of the conversation that got edited out, or a previous conversation that got deleted. Carl says "You're right. I am strong, we both are" but Rick never told him he was strong and it comes out of the blue. I tried to fix the mistake by writing Rick telling him he's strong into an earlier conversation but it's just...ugh. I was dreading tackling this conversation as soon as I started writing this fic and I will admit to half-assing it because it just does not make sense to me.


End file.
